


The Labyrinth

by Smuffly



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aftermath of Snow Day episode, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Early Season 4, Friendship, Humour, Hurt Mac, Investigation, Mystery, Peril, Teamwork, whole team fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 38,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuffly/pseuds/Smuffly
Summary: A social event turns into something far more deadly when Mac, Adam and Danny attend a party high up in the mysterious Thorne Tower.Early Season 4, whole team featured.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows the Season 4 opening episode 'Can You Hear Me Now?'. The event that Adam is recalling in Chapter One takes place at the end of Season 3, in 'Snow Day'. For the purpose of this story, the effects of 'Snow Day', both physical and emotional, have lasted longer than they appear to do in the show itself. Therefore, the damage sustained by Adam and Danny has not yet healed.
> 
> The Labyrinth was enormous fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!

**_"A mighty maze! But not without a plan."  
_ ** _**(Alexander Pope)** _

Thorne Tower was a monolith.

It rose up from the street in clean dark lines. Black windows covered every inch of its surface, gleaming with reflected light. Against the evening sky, the tower itself was almost invisible. With haughty scorn - if a building could be said to have emotions - it held itself apart from the more elaborate concrete structures that huddled nearby like kneeling courtiers. Its stark simplicity made them look strangely ridiculous, as though they were trying too hard to impress, with their sloping tiles and their gargoyles, their rooftop gardens and their balconies of stone.

The entrance to this pinnacle of modern architecture was discreet, yet equally forbidding. Two steel doors in burnished charcoal grey, with just one mark: the sigil of the reclusive Marcus Thorne. A white crown in a ring of twisting black roses.

Hail to the King of Manhattan.

A pair of guards stood motionless on either side of the doors. Their faces were immobile but their eyes roamed incessantly over the gathering crowd, as though daring someone to challenge them before the hour had struck.

Tonight marked a special occasion. The first time that Thorne Tower had opened its doors to any member of the public since its completion a month ago. Glittering members of New York's elite thronged the streets in the hopes of glimpsing someone famous. Someone even more important than they were - because who else could possibly have won a pass to the social event of the season, pushing debutantes, millionaires and stars aside?

Yet the guests, when they started to arrive, were surprising.

**-x0x-**

Adam Ross glared at the mirror and stamped his foot in sheer frustration. Who was he kidding? This was never going to work. He should have opted for a clip-on.

His right hand ached with the strain of repeatedly trying to fasten his bow tie correctly. Adam let out a hiss and flexed it carefully, peering at the shiny new skin from the corner of his eye. Four pink circles, creased from repeated bending. Four reminders. 

He hated them. 

Would they ever truly heal? Studying them was a constant compulsion - but every time he did, they took him straight back to that warehouse; the fear, the sharp smell of cigarettes, and the pain...

_Don't go there._

This was meant to be a night of celebration. "Yeah, right," Adam snorted. "All by myself in a room full of strangers. Trying to make polite conversation as they size me up and wonder what I'm doing there, and how I managed to sneak in."

At first, he'd thought of asking Kendall. She was smart, she was stunning to look at and she was witty - the perfect companion for such an event. Except, of course, for the fact that she was smart, she was stunning to look at and she was witty - everything that he was not. Adam had his pride and, for once - just _once_ \- he yearned to step out of the shadows and be himself. The real Adam Ross. The one that had to be in there somewhere, behind the bumbling lab tech, waiting to fling off his white lab coat and show the world that he was a hero all along...

 _And now you've lost it completely,_ he sighed. Some hero. Who was it that had saved the day in the warehouse? Danny, of course. Which of them had cowered against the wall? Had given up everything? Had cried like a girl...?

Adam trembled in shame. Once more, he pushed the memory away.

 _I don't want to go,_ a small voice said inside his head.

The tie hung limply around his neck, symbol of his stupidity. He lifted his hand to remove it - just as a confident knock echoed through his apartment.

_Who...?_

Adam had kept his secret well, or so he thought. There was only one person that he had told, and that was because they had caught him with the invitation in his hand, staring at it blankly as the messenger strode away.

"Danny?" he mumbled.

It took several minutes to undo the locks and bolts that held his door in place. Adam's neighbourhood was not a friendly one, but the rent was cheap and the building itself was cleaner than most in the area. "Coming... I'm coming," he stammered, as he clicked and turned and slid the barriers aside. When at last the door swung open, sure enough, it was Danny's grinning face that Adam saw.

And one more person behind him.

"Mac!" gasped the lab tech, more stunned by his boss's presence than by the fact that both men were wearing tuxedos, just like him.

"Going for the casual look, hey Ross?" smirked Danny, with a sly glance at his dangling tie. The gaze slid down even further - and froze in silent mirth at the sight of Adam's Converse sneakers, peeping out from beneath the hems of his overlong pants.

Mac, of course, was immaculate. Even Danny cleaned up well, it seemed. Only the tape on his fingers appeared awkward and out of place.

A flush crept down the back of Adam's neck, past the troublesome tie and his borrowed shirt, becoming a trickle of moisture as it reached the curve of his spine. Did sweat wash out? He hoped so. This tuxedo was costly to hire and he had to take it back the day after tomorrow, clean and undamaged. Every stain and every tear would raise the fee by another $10. Adam didn't plan to eat or drink much tonight. The risk to his wallet was simply too great.

"Can we come in?" Mac said.

"Oh - yes, of course." Adam waved them through the door with a distracted air. As Danny passed him, the lab tech whispered urgently: "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

They stood in the middle of his tiny apartment. Picturing the scene through Mac's eyes, Adam's cosy home became riddled with flaws. Rubble in the kitchen from a hurried snack. Books everywhere, and a stack of games on the floor beside the couch. "I was just... I'm sorry, it's usually neater than this." He gave a helpless shrug.

"Adam. This is your home, not the lab. And it's nice." Mac smiled. His eyes were tired but the warmth was genuine.

"Oh."

Nice. A word that could be taken several ways. Adam's foot slid out and nudged an empty pizza box further beneath the coffee table. His muttered excuse had been the truth - Adam wasn't a careless man. If anything, he tended towards an obsessive neatness. Lately, life just seemed a little... overwhelming. He was a tiny fish being swept along by a vast, relentless ocean. Adam sighed.

"Yo, buddy. You still with us? You're looking a little zoned out." Danny leaned in, his blue eyes sharp and focussed behind his glasses.

_"I know you're afraid. But you are going to do this..."_

The echo made him jump. He covered it quickly with words, as he always did.

"You want to come with me?" Adam raised his eyebrows. "That's kind, okay, Danny - but really, I don't suppose it's going to be all that exciting. Just a bunch of total strangers and some tacky ceremony. Maybe some food..."

"You kiddin' me, Adam? You've got the hottest ticket in town. Why do you look like someone just spilled beer on your X-box?"

Ha ha. Adam opened his mouth to protest, but Mac was already stepping in; the voice of reason, as always.

"You're going," he told the lab tech firmly. "Why go alone?"

"Trust me," Danny added. "It'll be much more fun this way."

Fun. Adam quailed. A social event with his wise-cracking colleague - and his boss. _I should have invited Kendall after all._

Too late now.

"No problem," he said. "I'll just get my coat."

"Adam. Come here," Mac told him quietly. Reaching out, he took the ends of Adam's tie. With a few deft moves, he created a neat bow. 

Danny grinned, admiring the effect. "Much better."

"Thanks, boss," Adam mumbled. Taking up his coat, he led them back to the door - darting sideways at the very last minute to grab the ticket from his bag. _That was close._

"By the way," Mac said, "we took the liberty of hiring a cab."

Adam nodded. _Overwhelmed,_ he thought once more, letting go completely as his colleagues took control and swept him off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**_"The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend."  
_ ** **_(Henry David Thoreau)_ **

"You gonna eat that?"

Passing by, Don Flack eyed the muffin with careful indifference.

"C minus," was Jessica Angell's cryptic reply.

"Come again?"

"Your face. That innocent look. C minus. Could do better."

"Ouch!" He clutched his chest in the general region of his heart - but his eyes were still on the muffin. Jess opened her top drawer and threw a health bar in his general direction. Don snagged it in mid-air and frowned. "You tryin' to tell me something?"

"Not at all." Now it was Jess who looked innocent. The man was so easy to tease, it was almost a duty. She picked up the muffin - double chocolate, for double the temptation - and peeled off the wrapper, breathing in the heavenly scent with maybe a little more delight than she would normally convey.

"There's a circle reserved in hell for people like you," Don said darkly, stalking off to his own desk to nurse his injured pride. He had already opened the bar, though, she noted.

Around them, the precinct was strangely peaceful. No scumbags to process, no witnesses being grilled for every tiny scrap of information. Just a handful of officers and detectives, struggling with the paperwork that dogged their downtime. Procrastination was an art form and everyone there was a master with years of experience under their belt. Don, in particular, had a mountain of files on his desk. So far, he hadn't touched them. With amusement, Jess saw that he had topped the nearest pile with his abandoned wrapper. The health bar itself was nowhere in sight. Leaning back in his chair, Don swallowed the last bite down and looked around for more. Jess lifted a piece of muffin with delicate fingers and popped it between her lips, making noises of deep satisfaction.

Was that drool in the corner of his mouth?

Don took a deep breath, no doubt preparing to launch a scathing remark in her direction - just as his phone rang. He answered quickly, the consummate professional. Not a trace of sulkiness remained. His eyes sent a silent message. _Time to go._

The rest of the muffin was downed at speed. She barely tasted it.

At last. Some action.

**-x0x-**

They sat in the back of the cab, three penguins in a row. The middle penguin was looking rather squashed and very nervous. His blue eyes darted here and there, watching the city fly by as he struggled to keep a respectful inch of air between his shoulder and that of his boss. Every bump in the road made him draw back even further, which meant that he was almost sitting on Danny's lap at this point. Kindly, Mac pretended not to notice. Danny resisted the urge to push Adam away.

 _Was I wrong to invite Mac,_ he wondered.

This morning, it had seemed like the right thing to do. It still did, even now, if Danny was being totally honest with himself. Mac had been... distracted ever since he got back from London. And there were dark circles under his eyes, suggesting that his sleep pattern was fighting to get back to normal. A night out was just what he needed. A chance to laugh and drink, and hang out with the guys...

Danny peered sideways at the jittery lab tech. Adam's fingers were poking out of his over-large sleeves, playing with the hem as though they were searching for something constructive to do. If he kept that up, it would be worn away completely by the end of the evening.

Okay, maybe hanging out with Adam wasn't going to be all that relaxing. But that, right there - that was the second reason for asking Mac along.

Adam.

In Danny's humble, non-medical opinion, one week off after being held hostage at gunpoint wasn't anywhere near enough time to recover. And yet, according to Lindsay, there the man was, bright and early, the very first day that he was allowed back to work. Almost as though he had been hovering outside the door, counting down the hours and minutes until his sick leave ran out. Danny himself had been allotted ten days, due to the added severity of his injuries. Enforced rest had never been his style, but he had made himself go through with it, recognising the need, both physical and emotional. Staying with him whenever she wasn't at the lab, Lindsay had been a rock. Her peaceful smile, her warmth and her humour had kept him sane.

When Danny returned to the crime lab and saw Adam hard at work, he wondered who had done the same for his friend.

Did Adam have no one?

 _He should have had you,_ said a quiet voice in Danny's head. _Or Mac..._ But Danny was housebound, Mac was in London and the rest of the CSIs were hard pushed to keep up with their caseload, being short of so many hands. Had the lab tech slipped through the cracks? Maybe Stella had thought that Sheldon was checking up on him. And Sheldon could have assumed that one of his tech friends was visiting. Kendall, perhaps - they seemed fairly amicable, in a joky, competitive kind of way. But that was work, and this was... different.

Adam, in turn, said nothing at all about it - neither his time at home nor the incident itself. If anything, he was brighter than usual, and full of open humour. But his face still held faint traces of the terrible bruising, and he clenched and unclenched his right hand in a regular, convulsive way. Danny noticed. And he knew.

Three times, he had tried to talk to Adam. Any probing questions were deflected immediately with clumsy jokes, or the sudden memory of an important task that sent the man scooting away at top speed. After his failed third attempt, Danny noticed that the lab tech was starting to avoid him completely, unless there were plenty of other people around. Not good. Adam needed to talk to someone. And he needed to do it soon.

Danny nominated Mac.

Not that his boss had any idea of his cunning plan, of course. But this wild invitation had been the perfect opportunity to bring both men together and then take a step back himself. Maybe Mac was a little off his game right now, but the man had a radar system that was infallible. Give him a few hours with Adam to really observe him, and that should do the trick. The only problem he foresaw was convincing Mac to come along. Yet, to Danny's great surprise and delight, his boss had jumped at the chance. Maybe he knew more than Danny realised.

_Maybe?_

Come on. This was Mac. Of course he did.

"So, Adam," Danny said, by way of a conversation starter. "How'd you score such a sweet ticket anyway? You never told me."

Mac raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he had been wondering the same thing.

Adam gave a wary grin. "You'll laugh," he warned them.

"Try us," Mac said.

"I won it." There was a pink spot, high on both cheeks, as Adam flushed with unexpected pride. "The other week, when I was... okay, well, there was this competition online, you see. To write a paper and submit it. I needed to take my mind off... um, stuff, and this seemed like the perfect thing."

Danny fixed him with a level gaze - or as level as he could manage, since the taxicab was currently veering around a corner, throwing them all to one side. "That's cool. A paper on what?"

Adam shrugged. "Probability and chance. Game theory and its application to computerised security systems."

"Odd subject." Mac sounded interested. "Was that your idea or theirs?"

"Security was the topic." Adam's smile was charming. "Guess I added my own twist. Anyway, it worked. They picked seven finalists - and I was one of them. That's what this evening is all about."

Danny was impressed. "So, what's the ultimate prize?" he demanded. "Other than this party, of course. Fortune and glory?"

"Respect," said Adam quietly.

Both men stared at him.

"Adam. You have respect," Mac said. "Everyone in the lab knows how hard you work."

"Oh. Um, yeah, I know." The pink spots spread and the blush became more violent. "In the lab. Sure, boss. I just thought..." He tailed off, unable to put his feelings into words.

"Hey - it's nice to be recognised," Danny finished for him. "Right?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Adam's voice was soft by now. Mac's face was troubled.

 _Bingo,_ Danny thought as he watched the first part of his plan fall right into place.

It was clear that Mac wanted to pursue the matter further. However, just as he opened his mouth, the taxi drew to a squealing halt. The resulting tangle served as the perfect distraction - _lucky for Adam,_ thought Danny - and by the time they spilled out onto the sidewalk, all conversation was driven from their minds by the noisy milling crowd and the sight of Thorne Tower rising above them, darker than night.

Danny had never considered himself to be a nervous man. But right now, staring upwards, his heart was pounding.

"You can stick this under the heading of 'Things I Never Thought I'd Do'," he muttered.

Adam giggled. The three men glanced at each other for support and took a deep breath.

"Come on," said Mac. "Let's go earn you that respect."

And together, they marched up to the door, with its two forbidding sentries.

 _Please sir - we want to see the wizard,_ said the wry voice that lived inside Danny's head.


	3. Chapter 3

_**"Death makes sad stories of us all."  
** _ _**(Tim Schafer)** _

"Two for the price of one?" Sheldon joked, as he stepped through the doorway into the victim's penthouse apartment, a hop and a skip behind Stella, and saw both detectives standing in the hallway.

"Slow night," Don said innocently.

"Paperwork," Jess mouthed behind him. Sheldon grinned.

"'Nuff said. So, what've we got?"

They crossed the wide open space of the red and black living area, which was styled in a geometric, minimalist fashion. Not really to Sheldon's taste, but he understood the appeal of such serenity in this complex modern world. Detective Angell was in the lead, and took them straight to the bathroom - which, by comparison, was the height of luxury. Cleanliness was definitely high on this man's list of priorities. Black and white tiles, expensive gold fittings, a porcelain 'throne' and, most extravagant of all, an enormous jacuzzi style bathtub, so big that it was practically a swimming pool.

 _Shame about the body dumped inside it,_ Sheldon thought.

'Dumped' was the right word. The tub was empty of water and the unclothed body had been posed in an ungainly manner, almost as though it had been dropped from a great height - were it not for the tell-tale smear of blood that led across the tiles from the door.

Moving closer, Sheldon studied the victim with the practised eye of a man who had already seen more corpses in his life than he cared to number. Sid Hammerback kept count, according to OCME gossip. A curious trait, if true, that Sheldon had no desire to imitate. Each body was an individual. A person, robbed of life. That was all he knew, and all he needed to know, in order to do his job.

The man in the tub looked far too young to own such an elegant apartment. With his long, shaggy hair, his mild rash of acne and his pitiful attempt at a beard, Sheldon would have expected to find such a character in student digs or, at best, a tiny studio - his first real place in the city. His lack of clothes made him seem even more vulnerable; like a child in a man's world, who had lost his way and paid the ultimate price.

"Rudy Nash," Flack said, anticipating their first question. "Computer geek."

"And trust fund baby?" Stella asked.

"You'd think," the detective nodded. "But no. He earned all this by tapping away at a keyboard. Go figure. Guess I'm in the wrong job after all."

The image of Don stuck in front of a computer screen all day, complete with dark-rimmed glasses, a t-shirt from some old rock band, five o'clock shadow and rumpled hair, popped irresistibly into Sheldon's mind. He blinked and swallowed back an errant chuckle.

"Guess you are," he agreed. Stella smiled serenely - but there was a twinkle in her eye that made him suspect her of harbouring a similar thought.

Bending over the body, Sheldon peered closely at Rudy Nash's left arm. "Strange," he said.

"What's that?" A subtle and familiar scent washed over him, as Stella moved in closer.

"See these marks on his wrist and his bicep?" Sheldon's eyes travelled further across the body. "Torso. Legs and neck. Matching lines on his other arm..."

"Some kind of ligature?" she guessed. Sheldon nodded.

"You're saying he was tied up at some point," Jess put in. "We noticed that too. But there are no ropes of any kind in this apartment. Maybe the killer took them with him?"

"Quite likely." Returning to the left arm, Sheldon gestured to a jagged slice. "Cause of death, transection of the brachial artery. Too much blood loss for anyone to withstand. But there's not enough here to make this the primary crime scene."

Don nodded. Disgust was evident in the curl of his lip and the line between his brows. "That would be the bedroom. Follow me..."

**-x0x-**

"Exotic." Stella's eyes grew wide with startled appreciation.

"You're lookin' at decor?" Don said. "When there's a great big pool of blood on... well, I guess you could call that a bed."

"It's a futon," Sheldon corrected him firmly. "Very good for posture. I had one myself for a while. But you're right. That's a whole lot of blood."

As with his bathroom, Nash's bedroom was surprising - and not just because of the gory mess left by the killer. It was a study in shades of grey; all except for one wall, which had a stark white background, overlaid with an intricate, silhouetted picture of a tree. Peering closer, Stella noticed that the twigs which burst from every branch were actually made up of random words, in twisted black writing. She traced a few with her finger, trying to untangle the knot of letters, and smiling each time she succeeded. _Intellect. Paradox. Fallacy. Truth._ The illusion was clever, and beautiful.

"Stella," Jess said quietly behind her. "What are you thinking?"

"That Nash was a far more complex man than his outward appearance suggests."

She moved across to the only other piece of furniture in the room, positioned to the right of the unhappy futon. A chest made of cherry wood; rare and expensive. Lifting the lid, she discovered a stash of clothes in a crumpled heap _Even the most immaculate soul needs a place where they can let go,_ she thought with a nod of understanding. Her mind flew back to a certain secret cupboard in her own apartment. One which no visitor would ever be allowed to see inside... A guilty smile crossed her lips.

"So. Primary scene - am I right?" Don said. His matter-of-fact tone yanked her back to reality with a jolt. "The trail of blood leads from here to the bathroom. Murdered, dragged and dumped."

"There's no doubt in my mind," Sheldon agreed. "Though right now it's hard to imagine why the body was moved at all. What possible motive could there be?" He shrugged. "Oh well - down to work, I guess. I'll take the bathroom, Stella, if you like. You seem to have an affinity for this particular room."

Stella smiled at his humour, and his consideration.

**-x0x-**

Leaving the two CSIs alone to work, Don and Jess retreated back to the entrance hall and considered their own next move. "Nash was employed by a guy named Marcus Thorne," Don said, with one eye on his notebook. "Isn't that the jackass who built that glass monstrosity downtown?"

"The billionaire, you mean?" Jess smiled. "I think so. Why would he hire a kid like Nash, I wonder?"

"We could ask him." Don shrugged. "Gate-crash his party..."

"Party?" She glared at her partner with a sudden air of deep suspicion. "What party?"

"Oh... well, I heard... It's some kind of grand affair to mark the building's completion. Speeches. Food..." His eyes were appealing. Jess looked grave.

"I see. Good idea. I'll go and do that then, shall I? While you stay here with Hawkes and Stella?"

Don's exaggerated pout made words unnecessary.

"Fine," Jess chuckled, appearing to relent. _So easy..._ "Leave a uni on the door. We'll go together."


	4. Chapter 4

_**"Friends are as companions on a journey."  
** _ _**(Pythagoras)** _

Adam shoved his left hand into his pocket and fished out the invitation, which was now slightly dog-eared. He held it up with an apologetic look upon his face. "Um - good evening. Can we go in?"

The larger of the two enormous sentinels reached out and snagged the card between sausage-like fingers. His fist was meatier than a ham hock, and almost as pink. The rest of his body was equally vast. _He didn't grow; he was inflated,_ Adam thought wildly. _And they used too much air..._ The bow tie beneath his chin was perfect - a point of envy - but so high up that it threatened to choke him, largely due to the fact that the man had no neck. His head simply topped off the slab that was his body, with a bland face, little piggy eyes and a thin line of bristling hair that travelled from one ear to the other around the back.

Gazing upwards, Adam forced out what he hoped was a confident smile. Next to him, Danny rocked up and down on the balls of his feet, as he often did when he was feeling edgy or excited. Scared that his friend was one twitch away from a reckless comment, Adam turned to Mac with a silent plea for help.

"Adam Ross and friends," Mac said calmly. "We're expected. As you can see." He gestured to the invitation.

Gold-capped teeth sprang into view, as the doorman flashed them a sudden, dazzling smile.

"Yes, you are," he squeaked. Adam's mouth dropped open in astonishment. He snapped it shut at once and hoped that no one had noticed. The doorman may have the voice of a clown but he was built like a sumo wrestler. No point taking any chances.

Nodding to each other, the two giants reached out in unison and pushed on the grey doors, which swung inwards, cracking the seal through the very centre of the white crown and its circle of roses.

"Welcome to Thorne Tower," the second doorman said in a bottomless _basso profundo._

Adam resisted the urge to bow.

They stepped through the doorway and into the building. Instantly, behind them, there was a dull thud and the rattle of unseen bolts, as the door resealed itself.

After that - silence.

Now Adam was doubly nervous. Mac gave him an encouraging pat on the back. Danny chuckled.

"This is some weird-ass party you got yourself invited to, Adam Ross," he commented.

Adam gave a laugh that was high and shaky. "Tell me about it."

Together, they stared at their surroundings. The lobby was cavernous and dimly lit, with that 'new building' smell that was the total sensory opposite of Adam's apartment block. Shrugging his fingers up even further inside his long sleeves, he couldn't help feeling more than a little shabby. A church mouse in a cathedral.

"Want to keep going?" he asked them, half of him wishing that their answer would be 'no'. That was 'Wary Adam', the one who jumped at his own shadow. 'Curious Adam' - his better half - was too busy gazing up at the endless ceiling in admiration.

"We can't go back. They've locked us in." Danny's logic was far from reassuring.

"I think this might be our welcoming committee," Mac said quietly, as a nearby elevator opened its glass doors and a tiny bird of a man hopped out on skinny legs that were surprisingly nimble. His chest was round and his stomach was encased in a bright red cummerbund. His head bobbed forwards in a darting, inquisitive manner. Adam watched him approach in wordless fascination. Once more, his mouth was wide open. Grinning, Danny leaned over and eased it back up with a helpful finger beneath his chin.

"Oh. Thanks," Adam murmured.

"Greetings," the bird-man carolled, as he drew near to the three startled men. "I am Robin Farraday."

"Of course you are." Danny's voice was low and his words were meant for Adam, who spluttered. Beside them, Mac frowned at their lack of respect, making Adam feel like a naughty schoolboy.

Blissfully unaware that he was the butt of Danny's humour, Mr. Farraday reached their side. In height, he was barely level with Mac's chest but there was a gleam in his eye that warned of a temper within. Adam swallowed and fell silent.

"Allow me to introduce you to Thorne Tower. I am the building's liaison."

 _Odd title,_ Adam thought, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Farraday's accent had a slight germanic inflexion. His sentences were clipped and precise. Not a word was wasted.

"Which of you is Adam Ross?" the liaison continued. He gave a hopeful bob in Mac's direction. When Adam raised a tentative hand, the action was mirrored by a twitch in the corner of Farraday's eye. He smoothed it over at once, but Adam knew exactly what he was thinking...

_Oh. How disappointing._

His confidence dropped another notch. Farraday held out a bony claw. Reluctantly, Adam took it. The fingers were cold and thin, like winter twigs. Nor was there any real warmth in the gesture itself. Farraday's grip on his tender palm was so tight that it made him wince. Pulling away as soon as it was polite to do so, Adam's hand retreated back up his sleeve.

"Congratulations, Mr. Ross," the liaison intoned. "I hope that you and your friends will have a pleasant evening." His eyes gleamed as he spoke. The effect was strangely ominous. Adam gave a startled flush. Danny twitched. Beside them, Mac was looking puzzled. "Follow me..."

**-x0x-**

The elevator was silent and its rise felt effortless. Through the glass, Mac watched the floors slip by. Dark wall, bright light. Dark wall, bright light. There were no numbers anywhere; this was a non-stop ride. Top floor only. Mac soon gave up counting and allowed his thoughts to dwell on the thing that was bothering him the most. Their situation.

Which was a strange one, when you thought about it. Locked in a tower, heading upwards, with a guide who was less than friendly. Perhaps that was an overly bleak view, but Mac's gut was churning and that was never good. Something else was going on here - he was certain of it. Grimly, he resolved to keep his eyes wide open.

Thank goodness Danny had refused to let the lab tech go to the party alone. The thought of Adam walking into such a place all by himself was frightening.

Adam. All by himself.

And there it was again. That nasty little prodding sense of guilt. It had followed him all the way to London and back again. He had hoped that coming here tonight would finally drive it out of his system...

_Walking away from the broken lab with Peyton by his side, like some kind of cowboy hero riding off into the sunset, Mac felt strangely numb. Only one thing disturbed him. He couldn't leave the country without seeing for himself that Danny and Adam were really okay. Sending Peyton off to finalise the travel arrangements, Mac made his way to the hospital. That was the easy part._

_Adam was the problem. To Mac's dismay, the young man could hardly bring himself to speak a word beyond a soft 'hello'. Dutiful greeting over and done with, he lowered those clear blue eyes of his; so open before and now so evasive. The change was alarming to see, as were the bruises on his face._

_Feeling useless and utterly to blame for leaving him at the warehouse in the first place, Mac found that all he had to offer were words of sympathy. Stock phrases and platitudes. They washed over Adam without sinking in, he could tell. The battered lab tech nodded and smiled, and lay back quietly on his bed, trying to hide the marks on his shaking hand as he waited for the specialist to arrive._

_Mac caught a tiny glimpse and it turned his stomach. With an effort, he hid his reaction and his rage at the people who would do such a thing, to such a man._

_Sensing that he would learn nothing more from Adam at this point, he took the not-so-subtle hint that was Adam's silence and left him alone._

_His next stop was Danny's room._

_Here, there was warmth and comfort in the form of Lindsay. Flack lounged nearby too, a dark figure, unusually grim-faced and brooding. It had been an emotional day for all of them._

_"Mac!" said Danny. Somehow, he had managed to retain his usual spark, in spite of his injuries and the blood that still covered his ragged shirt. His hand was a mess. Mac could feel his pain like a knife through his own skin._

_"Danny. You look awful."_

_"Thanks, boss. Hey - I hear you blew up the lab. If you wanted time off that badly, you could have just taken it..."_

_Mac gave a short, sharp bark of laughter, startling Flack, who jumped as though the sound had woken him out of a dream._

_No, a nightmare._

_"I wouldn't like to be in your shoes when the budget guys get hold of you," the detective said, looking more like his usual self than he had a moment ago._

_"Why do you think I'm going to London?" Mac replied. He stared at Danny. "Give us a moment," he added, aiming his request at the other two visitors in the room. With a squeeze of Danny's unbroken hand, Lindsay rose obediently. Flack was more reluctant._

_"Coffee?" Lindsay suggested, catching Mac's eye and guessing his need._

_Don shrugged at last and peeled away from the wall. He followed her out of the room and closed the door behind him, with one last glance through the tiny window._

_"Now," Mac said. "Tell me everything. About you - and Adam."_

_"He not talking?" Danny guessed with a shrewd look. "Figures. I had to force it out of him myself, and I don't think I got the full story either. Six hours, Mac. God only knows what they put him through. The rest was bad enough."  
_

_Without a word, Mac listened as Danny recounted his version of the event. "You were lucky," he breathed at last, when the CSI had finished._

_"I know." Danny's voice was fervent. He looked up. Lindsay's bright eyes were peeping through the glass. Clearly, she couldn't bear to be away from him any longer than necessary. Mac smiled._

_"I'll leave you two alone," he said._

_"Thanks, boss." Danny's look of embarrassment showed Mac that there was far more to the story than even he was admitting. And Lindsay was part of it._

_Leaving the room, Mac tried to return to Adam but the doctor was there by now and no visitors were allowed._

_He did not see the lab tech again until he returned from London._

**-x0x-**

"Boss," Adam said in an urgent whisper. "We're here. Come on..." He paused, feeling slightly unsettled by Mac's odd expression. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

 _Not_ true, Adam thought - but now was not the time for delving any deeper. Nor did he have the right to do so. Mac's emotions were private and he rarely shared them, especially not with over-familiar lab techs who didn't know when or how to mind their own business.

As the glass doors sprang open, Robin Farraday leapt out ahead of the three men and turned around to face them. He was smiling, but the smile never reached his eyes.

"Penthouse," he said. "Welcome to the fun. I shall leave you now. My task is done and I have other duties."

Peering outwards, Adam froze. Danny saw his hesitation and gave him a helpful nudge that sent him stumbling into the room.

"Hey!" Adam gasped. His friend stepped out behind him, followed by his boss. Farraday took their place and the doors swept shut, effectively sealing them in as the elevator dropped away down the shaft like a plummeting stone down a well.

Their fate was before them now. There was no going back.


	5. Chapter 5

_**"It is easy to decide on what is** **wr** **ong** **to wear to a party, such as deep-sea diving equipment or a pair of large pillows, but deciding what is right is much trickier."  
** _ _**(Lemony Snicket)** _

"Talk about overcompensating..." Don Flack muttered, climbing out of the car and letting his gaze travel upwards. For reasons that he could not fathom, this new addition to the Manhattan skyline was really starting to bother him. And being this close to it certainly didn't improve his opinion. Too tall. Too dark. Too... what was the word?

 _Try 'sinister',_ his brain suggested helpfully.

Jess closed the passenger door.

"Don't make jokes like that in front of Thorne," she advised with a grin. "He'll probably sue you for slander."

"Like the guy needs more money?" The detective pulled a face as he locked the car and led the way towards the jostling crowd at the base of the tower.

"Maybe he spent it all, building this." Jess shrugged. "How much do you reckon it cost?"

"Way I heard it, half a billion. That's insane," Don added, frowning even more deeply.

She glanced at him, clearly taken by the fact that it bothered him. "What would you do? If you had that much?" she asked curiously.

Don considered.

"I'd buy the Knicks," he said at last. For a moment, his face was solemn - reverent, even. Then he burst out laughing. Jess gave his arm a shove.

"Silly of me to expect a straight answer," she teased him. "Besides, I can tell you myself. It's obvious. You'd give it away. I know you, Detective Flack."

"Oh, you do?" His mouth quirked at the corners and his eyebrows shot up in playful amusement. She was right, of course, but the fact that she understood him that well was intriguing.

"Yes, I do."

Reaching the throng, Jess tipped him a sly wink and dove right in, her slight form moving easily between the shifting bodies. Seconds later, she had disappeared from sight.

A challenge.

 _I like it,_ thought Don, as he launched in after her.

**-x0x-**

Adam had been to his fair share of parties. Back in college, his first roommate, Troy, had taken the shy boy from Arizona under his wing and shown him what it meant to have fun. He would always be grateful for that; the experience and the kindness that saw past his crippling nerves and dragged him, blinking, into the light.

Eager charm and bright blue eyes had opened many doors for him. His cluster of friends had become a circle.

He had learned how to laugh.

 _Good times,_ he thought, as he stared at the scene before him with a dubious look on his face and a growing sense of disappointment.

"Looks like the party was outside after all," grinned Danny. "This is a geek's convention. Hehehe..."

The room was enormous. Three out of the four walls were composed almost entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the illusion that they were floating high up above the city, like a castle in the clouds. Very few of the tower's Manhattan neighbours aspired to such dizzy heights. The rest were far below them, out of sight. Used to working in the crime lab, Adam thought that he would be immune to vertigo by now.

Apparently not.

Squirming his toes inside his sneakers, he tried to anchor himself even more firmly to the floor.

The fourth wall, far away on the opposite side of the room, appeared to be solid - although it was hard to be certain, since most of it was hidden by an enormous banner, showing the face of a man that Adam could only assume was Marcus Thorne. He stared at his guests from beneath a pair of dark and bushy eyebrows, like a professor waiting for silence in an unruly lecture hall. The image was unsettling. The man himself may not have been there yet, but he cast a long shadow that was cool and unpleasant. Adam shivered.

"Where is he?" he whispered. "Thorne, I mean?"

"Maybe he's waiting to make his grand entrance," Mac suggested.

"Maybe he's hiding behind a screen," quipped Danny.

But there was no screen. In fact, there were only three pieces of furniture in the room. A dais beneath the banner. A table laden with food that made Adam sigh with regret when he recalled his suit, and the vow of abstinence. And a piano, tucked in the far corner, being played by a small and fussy man who was so neat in his movements that he looked almost like an automaton. "Maybe he is," Adam muttered, as soulless arpeggios spilled from the black and white keys.

At this point, he doubted that anything could surprise him.

"Is what?" Danny caught his quiet words.

"Hmm?" Embarrassed, Adam pretended not to know what Danny meant. He turned away quickly and stared at the guests, who had gathered together for safety, like sheep.

Now it was Mac and Danny who looked out of place in their immaculate tuxedos. Adam couldn't help but give a little smile.

Milling around the table in that awkward, stilted fashion that defines the beginning of any party formed entirely of strangers, was a truly eclectic mix of people, dressed in a wide range of fancy clothes that were anything but the latest fashion.

"Not what you expected?" said a wry voice in his ear.

He jumped.

She had crept up behind them, circling round the room like a prowling cat until she reached their position undetected. The three men stared at her in surprise. She seemed unconcerned by their expressions - or by anything else, for that matter. A half-smile hovered on her lips. Her eyes were sharp and clever.

"Arabella Kazinsky," she said, as she stuck out her hand like a man.

Mac took it, tilting his head politely. The handshake was firm, and she was the last one to let go.

"Mac Taylor," he responded. "Danny Messer. Adam Ross."

"Two guests. Well, that evens it out. I didn't bring anyone. Couldn't be bothered."

 _Or maybe you had no friend to ask,_ Adam thought with sudden clarity, catching the slight edge of self-deceit beneath her casual words.

"Not my guests," Mac explained. He pointed to Adam. Her green eyes switched direction and she nodded.

"I knew that," she said. Her focus was intense as she took in his over-long suit and his twitchy manner. "I read your paper."

"You did?" he gasped.

"I read them all. Know your enemy." She laughed; an odd sound, like a hiccup. "Just kidding, of course."

"Um - of course." Adam returned her stare, full of frank amazement at her bold and fearless manner. Her outfit seemed to be a continuation of her character and, as such, it suited her even though it was quite outrageous. From neck to toe, she was draped in a long and shapeless purple dress that was almost a kaftan, with its orange tie-dye detail and its random sprinkling of beads around the neck. Hanging loosely in the crooks of her arms, she wore a lilac shawl with shimmering tassels. Her hair, stuck halfway in the transition from black to grey, was rolled up and pinned to the top of her head with what looked remarkably like a pair of chopsticks, straight from a Chinese restaurant. Her make-up was... well, the word that sprang to Adam's mind was 'heavy'. As though she didn't really know how to apply it, and nor did she care. To complete the look, Arabella had slung an enormous lumpy bag over her shoulder.

She caught the direction of his eyes and glanced downwards.

"Ha. My 'Port-all'. Never go anywhere without it," she said. "I'm a practical woman. Why abandon the things you need because fashion dictates that a purse no bigger than a postage stamp is the thing to be seen with this year? I ask you, really - what's the point of that?"

Recalling his own beloved messenger bag, Adam was rather inclined to agree with her - yet he stayed quiet, stunned by the force of her presence.

"You said you read the other papers?" Danny intervened, trying to help his friend by hiding his silence. "Does that mean you know these guys?"

Arabella nodded, catching his meaning at once. "And you don't," she nodded. "Let me help you."

Trying not to look as though they were staring, the three men followed the line of her finger. She pointed to the individuals around the table, who were still performing their awkward social dance as the music played on.

"Maya Jordan," she began, selecting the one who was nearest to them. "Infant prodigy. Student at M.I.T."

The young woman was hovering near the dips, focussing on the food as a means of avoiding unnecessary conversation. Her black hair was a mass of curls and she wore a deep red trouser suit that was probably the brightest thing in the room, next to Arabella's outfit. If she was yin, then her friend - a pale ghost hovering beside her, with a shifting mass of long blond hair and a terrified expression on her face - was definitely yang.

Arabella continued.

"Jeremy Carter. Genius. That's his word, not mine," she added with a heavy vein of sarcasm in her voice. "Styles himself something of an inventor. Useless items that nobody in their right mind would ever want."

The victim of this tirade was a wiry man, fizzing with energy, who moved around the table snatching morsels from every dish and piling them onto his plate as though food would soon be going out of fashion and he was determined to try every last thing before it did. He was dressed in a kilt, of all things; full Scottish dress that, secretly, Adam rather admired. It was different, but smart. Completing the look, Carter's shaggy brown hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck in a rough ponytail that was held by a strand of leather cord. There were silver studs all down the side of one ear, like a row of nails. His grin was tiger-fierce.

Meanwhile, the identity of his guest (if, indeed, he had brought one) was a mystery, as Jeremy stalked the table by himself and spoke to no one.

"Who's that?" Danny whispered, nodding his head in the direction of an older man in an ill-fitting tweed jacket. He had a proud face, with a long crease that split his forehead in a perpetual frown, all the way down to his beak-like nose. Behind him, a slight young figure hovered anxiously.

 _Smithers and Mr. Burns,_ Adam christened them secretly, struck by their resemblance to the 'Simpsons' cartoon duo.

Arabella smiled in amusement. "You mean the Odd Couple? Harrison Drew and his faithful shadow?"

Danny nodded. "What's with that? The poor kid looks like a puppy waiting for scraps."

"He is, in a sense. I've seen them around. That's Drew's secretary, Alfie Jakes. He keeps a notebook in his pocket, ready to capture every sparkling gem of wisdom that falls from his master's lips. Drew - or should I say Jakes - is writing a book. Another one. They've written three already. Dry as dust, but clever if you like that sort of thing. Drew fashions himself an archaeologist." She snorted. "Not sure when he last went on a dig."

Her acid tongue was starting to sting. Adam bit his lip as she moved on to her next target. Clearly, she was tiring too, as her next description was far more succinct. "Paul Greer. Math whizz. Far too clever to mix with anyone whose IQ doesn't match his own. Spends all day solving pointless problems and never looks past the end of his nose if he can help it. What he's doing here, I can't imagine. Don't know his friend." The two young men in her line of sight were almost identical, with their stereotypical long hair and bad shirts. Their suits were cheap and slightly faded. Adam sympathised.

The last three guests were women. By process of elimination, that meant that one of them ought to be Carter's date. The tall one, probably, who looked like some kind of hired escort. complete with brassy hair and far too many rhinestones on her dress to constitute good taste. She stood to the side in a haze of boredom, swilling champagne in a long-stemmed glass. Nearby stood a mother and daughter, dressed with elegant simplicity in matching outfits, the mother fussing over her child like a brooding hen, as she straightened her peach skirt and smoothed her long black hair.

The girl looked to be in her thirties and her expression was downcast, as though she were wishing with all her heart to be anywhere but there.

"Poor thing," Adam murmured.

Arabella nodded. "Don't know them," she admitted. "Only by name. Grace Adachi and her daughter Anna. Poor thing indeed."

Irked for a reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on, Adam turned to face the outspoken woman. "And what do you know about me?" he demanded, challenging her humorous smirk.

She shook her head. Her features softened and this time the smile was far more genuine.

"Nothing," she told him. "Nothing but good, that is. Take no notice of me, Adam Ross. I'm a sharp-tongued creature with far too many thoughts in my head. But one thing I'll say in my defence. I know a fool when I see one. And I know a good man too." She eyed them all speculatively. "One. Two. Three..."

"Thank you - I think," Danny cut in. Arabella laughed.

"Oh yes, it's a compliment." With a shrug, she nodded towards the table. "I'm starving. How about you? Shall we feast on Thorne's dime? Stuff ourselves with his generosity?"

Adam sighed, smoothing his jacket down absently.

Danny and Mac, on the other hand, seemed quite willing. And he wasn't about to be left by himself. What if he found the driest thing in the banquet and stuck with that? Surely then his tuxedo would be safe?

Almost as though it were trying to make its own voice heard, Adam's stomach growled. Already, he could feel his resolve beginning to weaken.

They set off together across the parquet floor. Before they could reach the rest of the group, however, three strange things occurred, one after the other.

The pianist broke off in the middle of a phrase.

The escort dropped her glass.

And the lights went out, plunging them all into darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**_"There was a Door to which I found no Key:  
There was a Veil past which I could not see."  
(Omar Khayyam)_ **

Alone in Rudy Nash's bedroom, Stella worked methodically, starting at the door and moving inwards as she gathered each new piece of evidence. Photographs of the scene, including the intricate mural. Samples of blood and other tell-tale bodily fluids. The bedding itself, which she bagged up carefully so that it was ready to go. All the while, however, her eyes were drawn to the chest beside the futon; Nash's secret domain. For her final task, she resolved to search it more thoroughly and document the search. If there was a way for evidence to reach beyond the veil of death and reveal something hidden about this man, then that evidence would be in the chest. She was sure of it.

Kneeling down on the plush grey carpet, Stella spread out a plastic sheet and began to remove items from the jumble, laying them down in order to create a visual catalogue of her findings. She grouped them according to type. Clothing - the largest pile. Far too many t-shirts for her taste, but at least Rudy's style was consistent. It certainly spoke to his character; the stereotypical geek. Beneath the clothing, she found a selection of far more curious articles. A book of Japanese poetry. A stuffed dog, limp and threadbare, full of memories that would now be lost forever. Lifting it out, Stella caught a faint scent of aftershave and smiled. A child's toy, still loved by the man.

Reaching further down, she felt her fingers connect with a hard object, smooth like the chest itself, but too high up to be the base. A box within a box. Intrigued, she used both hands to lift it out and set it on the sheet in front of her.

Clearly a valuable antique, the box was lacquered and inlaid on all sides with ivory squares in an alternating pattern, like a chessboard. Something heavy lay inside it. Stella picked it up once more and moved it around, bending her ear to catch the sound of an object sliding backwards and forwards. A single object. A book, perhaps? She stared at the box with a frown. Locked - but no key. And no keyhole, for that matter. How did it open?

Peering around the bedroom door, Sheldon laughed to see the look upon her face.

"Frustrated?" he asked her.

"Very," she replied. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

He walked over to join her, crouching down as he took the box in his own gloved hands.

"Maybe..." he said in a hesitant manner, shaking it slowly, just as she had done. "It could be some kind of puzzle box. Each one has a secret way of opening. Some are straightforward - just a case of finding the right section to press - but others are fiendishly difficult. More than a thousand sliding movements to release the catch or reveal the compartment."

"Thanks for the reassurance," she smiled. Sheldon handed the box back.

"What could be inside, do you suppose?"

"I'm hoping a diary," Stella confessed. "Whatever it is, if he's locked it up this well, it must be important. I suppose I could smash it open - but I don't want to damage the contents. Or spoil the box, for that matter. It's a work of art, and I think it might be very old. For one thing, this is real ivory. I'll take it back to the lab."

"You love a good challenge," he nodded.

"So does Adam." Stella grinned. "Maybe I'll pass it along to him."

"I thought he got off early today? Some kind of party with his friends?"

Stella's face was innocent as she bagged up the puzzle box. "Yes - but he'll be back at work tomorrow..."

**-x0x-**

"You're kidding me, right?"

Don glared up at the man-mountain guarding the doorway.

"No, sir," boomed the giant, looking nervous. Beside him, his equally large partner squared off against the flashing eyes of Jessica Angell. She lifted her arm and waved her badge in his face.

"Know what this is?" she demanded. "An all-access pass."

"Mr. Thorne said no one." Squeaky Voice shifted unhappily. "Not without an invitation."

"Okay. Then where do we get one of those?" A fair request, as far as Don was concerned, with none of his usual sarcasm. _See,_ he thought, smiling. _I can be polite. Good manners cost nothing..._

Sadly, right now, they were also _worth_ nothing.

"It's too late." Squeaky Voice appeared to be the spokesman. "All the guests are inside. We're meant to be inside as well." He shifted in his enormous shoes and glanced at the door behind him. The very large, very _closed_ door. And what was with the shield-thing? A crown, for pity's sake? Did this Marcus Thorne think he was some kind of royalty?

Don's eyes narrowed.

"Look," he said, fighting hard to maintain his authority. "I'm not totally insensitive, okay? I get it. Privacy means a lot to Mr. Thorne. But one of his employees has been murdered. Don't you think he'd want to co-operate with our investigation? Stands to reason. So why don't you take us to your boss?" Just in time, he managed to stop himself saying 'leader'. "And then maybe we can ask him ourselves."

The guards exchanged a thoughtful look. Finally, they bowed their heads. Squeaky Voice spoke into a hidden microphone in his cuff, which led to an ominous barrage of thumps and rattles within the heavy steel framework. Pushing the two doors open at last, the giants barged through, one after the other. Don and Jess prepared to follow them. But the doors were deceptive. They sprang shut behind the men with brutal force, like a giant mousetrap. Don leapt backwards just in time to avoid being smacked in the face. He frowned as he heard the set of heavy internal bolts slide back into position.

"Oh," he said mournfully.

Jess said nothing but her expression spoke volumes.

Wondering how to deal with this slight flaw in his plan, Don craned his neck and studied the towering blemish that was Thorne's new stronghold, right here in the middle of Manhattan.

From far up amongst the clouds there came a rumble.

"Thunder?" Jess breathed. The air was certainly warm enough; sticky and humid, and full of foreboding.

"I... no..." His blue eyes grew wide. "Jess, look!"

Like a rolling shadow, darkness moved towards them. Tumbling down the side of the building, a mechanical wave of countless thin steel shutters was falling rapidly into place. The noise was deafening. All around them, people began to stir uneasily, pointing and murmuring in dismay. Some even covered their ears.

What was going on?

The final row of shutters hit the ground with an ominous clang and the building fell silent. Smooth glass had been wrapped in smooth steel, without a single chink in the armour. Even the doors were hidden.

_That can't be good..._

Don stared at Jess. She was equally bewildered. "Well," she said. "That's final. Unless you've got a giant can-opener in the trunk of your car, we're not getting in."

**-x0x-**

High up on the top floor, the noise was magnified a hundred times; a drum roll of doom that swelled up inside Adam's head until he thought that his skull would burst open. At the same time, what was shadow now became so black that he could not even see his hand before his face, or the two men who stood beside him.

The woman who had dropped her glass was sobbing by now. "I'm sorry," she kept repeating. "I'm sorry... It's just... I had such a terrible feeling. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry..."

Her plaintive words were swallowed by the uproar from the other guests, which grew more and more frantic as the darkness fuelled their fears. Cries of horror filled the air, mingled with a few choice obscenities. Most of these came from Arabella Kazinsky. Her dry voice was unmistakable.

"Mac?" Adam whispered. "What should we do?"

"Stay calm," was the reassuring answer. "Stick together."

A cool hand squeezed Adam's wrist, making him jump. To his great surprise, it was Danny. The rough edge of the tape against his skin was a dead giveaway. Adam's first thought was to pull away but, in the darkness, that would be a crazy thing to do. Besides, it was oddly reassuring - the touch of another human being, coupled with the firm tones of his boss. No need to fear. His friends were with him.

"What was that?" someone cried out.

"Are we under attack?"

"Has there been an explosion?"  
  


At the same time, a small flame popped up, lighting Jeremy Carter's face from the side and making him look quite alarming, as though his features had begun to melt away into the shadows...

Adam shook his head and banished the image quickly. _How stupid I am,_ he thought, with a sudden flash of inspiration. With his free hand, he felt for his inside pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Reception was non-existent - but that wasn't Adam's concern right now. Flicking through the apps, he found the one that he wanted.

His phone turned into a glowing brick of light.

Now he could see the puzzled look on Danny's face beside him.

"Flashlight app," he murmured, with a wobbly grin.

All around him, the rest of the guests began to make their own light too. Cell phones, lighters - even a tiny key-ring flashlight in the shaking hands of Maya Jordan. The effect would have been rather pretty, if the situation wasn't so alarming.

Sensing the need for some kind of leadership, Mac stepped forward into the wavering circle. Even as he opened his mouth to speak, however, another voice rang out; precise and cheery, like a public announcement.

"Contestants. Welcome to Thorne Tower. Please note that the building is completely secure. Time to proceed with this evening's 'entertainment'..."


	7. Chapter 7

_**"A trap is only a trap if you don't know about it. If you know about it, it's a challenge."  
** _ _**(China Miéville)** _

Mac tried to pinpoint the source of the message.

Not inside the room. That much was certain. He could detect no faint doubling of words to suggest that one of the others was using a microphone. In fact, he was beginning to think that the speaker was not even human. There was a definite 'wrongness' to the elegant flow of words. A man would be more random in his breaths and his inflexions. This voice was artificial.

Above his head, an almost imperceptible hum sent a prickle ghosting down his neck. It was also the final clue that he needed. Reaching out, he turned Adam's hand and sent the beam from the phone swinging up towards the ceiling. Yes, there it was. A tiny, unremarkable device that dangled from the high tiles on a slender cable.

"See it?" he breathed.

"I do," Adam nodded. Danny craned his neck and added his own confirmation.

"Contestants. By your words, you have been chosen," the voice continued smoothly, offering false congratulations. Chosen. Chosen for what? And by whom? Mac frowned. Beside him, Danny shifted nervously. "Deep inside the tower, Marcus Thorne is waiting to greet you. This is your final challenge."

"Hmph. I don't like the sound of that," Arabella Kazinsky snorted, nudging Adam from behind. "Do you?"

The beam shook slightly.

"Um... no. I guess not."

Mac could hear the underlying note of panic that Adam was trying so hard to disguise and he felt a twinge of pity.

A hush fell over the room, as the voice continued, like some kind of eerie game show host.

"Half a million dollars will be gifted to the first contestant, or group of contestants who can find their way to Thorne's apartment at the heart of the building. Work together, or work alone. The choice is yours."

"And what's the catch?" Danny hissed, echoing Mac's own feeling of unease. Around the table, there was a ripple of shock at the amount on offer. "Adam," he continued urgently, "tell me you read the small print before you entered this competition of yours."

"I... No. I mean... Danny, look, there wasn't any. At least, I don't think so..."

"No," Arabella confirmed, leaping to his defence. "He's right. And I should know. I _never_ neglect the small print. Something I learned at a very early age. Don't ask me how - I'm not telling."

Adam flashed her a look of gratitude. His face was pale in the torchlight. Meanwhile, Danny's silence showed Mac that he had relented.

Around them, the atmosphere in the room was shifting. Slowly, and without any hint of subtlety, people were starting to spread out, eyeing each other warily as they moved away. No longer were they sheep, who huddled together for safety. Now there was distrust, and sharp suspicion.

Money had turned them into wolves.

Mac felt a deep sense of foreboding.

The voice spoke again and they listened with rapt attention.

"By your words, you have been chosen," it repeated. "The honour is yours. Thorne Tower boasts a unique security system. Be warned - the traps are complex and varied. But please accept our promise. This is a test of skill. There is no danger. For the purpose of this challenge, safety protocols have been engaged. Your health is in our hands."

"Oh, well - that's okay, then," Danny mumbled. "I feel better..." Mac nudged him sharply. Now was not the time for sarcasm. Now was the time to gather every scrap of information. Even the most significant phrase could be vital.

"Success will end the lockdown for everyone. Failure will keep you all here until dawn, when the Tower is set to release you."

"Release us?" Harrison Drew's cultured tone was full of fury. "We're prisoners, then?"

"With a golden key on offer." This time, the speaker was a woman, mature and rational. Mac couldn't be sure who it was. She spoke from the darkness but her words were bold and people listened. A murmur of assent began to grow around her, spreading outwards.

"Good luck," the voice said brightly. It paused, as though it had been programmed to expect some kind of response - yet none came. The low hum continued above their heads for a moment or two.

And then it was gone.

The pause was terrible. Nobody wished to be the first to react. The first to choose a path.

"Hang this," Arabella growled at last. "Who says we have to play? No one asked for this - did they? Don't know about you guys, but I came here for a party, not some rich man's crazy experiment."

Mac felt a surge of admiration for the forthright woman. Dropping her bag to the floor with a satisfying thud, she reached out her hand in a silent request. Adam passed her the phone. Full of wicked humour, she held it level with her chest and aimed it upwards, lighting her face from below. "I'm not a pawn in anyone's game," she told them all; a disembodied spirit with a challenging scowl on its face. "And I'm staying right here until dawn. In the nice safe room with the table full of food. Who's with me?"

Jeremy Carter waved his lighter, making the tiny flame dance. "Great speech," he said in a lazy drawl. "Strength of character, and all that - very admirable. But come on, Bella. Half a million dollars? Can you really turn that down? Game on, I say, and may the best player win..."

The flame went out and Jeremy vanished from sight.

The escort gave an urgent cry, confirming Mac's supposition that she was Jeremy's 'date'. Clacking her heels across the parquet floor, she scrambled to find him in the darkness.

Mac took the phone from Arabella. A look of understanding passed between them as the beam of light changed hands. _Your turn,_ she seemed to say.

Pulling out his badge, he held it up for all to see.

"My name is Detective Mac Taylor of the NYPD," he began.

Rather than instilling a sense of hope, this introduction was met with suspicion and even, in some cases, rudeness. "Detective," a low voice muttered, from the general direction of the math 'twins'. "Does he think that puts him above us?"

"Every man for himself, that's what I say," Harrison Drew proclaimed. "And every woman too, of course," he added grudgingly.

Mac could feel Arabella Kazinsky bristling beside him. She opened her mouth - but Danny was quicker.

"You want good odds?" he demanded. "Stick together. Work as a team."

"You want good odds?" the first voice whined in a childish imitation. "Check the numbers. Half a million. Fourteen people. Thirty five thousand dollars and change. Half a million. One person. Need I go on...?"

"You're a fine human being, you know that?" Danny growled, stepping forwards. Mac laid a restraining hand on his arm and tried again.

"We don't know what's ahead of us," he told the group firmly, ignoring the uneasy rumblings all around him.

"What good are you, then?" the childish voice said sulkily. Nearby, someone shushed him. Mac took that as a good sign.

"This situation is ridiculous. But we seem to be stuck with it - literally - and we need to figure out the best thing to do."

"Perhaps..." Adam faltered, as the eyes of the room swivelled quickly towards him.

Danny nudged him. "Perhaps...?" he repeated.

Mac listened with interest, hoping that the rest of the group would do the same.

Adam edged into the beam of light which Mac pointed his way.

"It's just... I was wondering what would happen if we _all_ stayed here. You know, refused to play the game." In the face of almost overwhelming laughter, Adam persisted bravely, earning a look of surprise from his boss and a nod of respect from Arabella. "That way, no one takes the money, right? And we all go home safe and sound. Isn't that the fairest thing to do?"

"You afraid, little man?" sneered Jeremy Carter's voice from somewhere in the shadows near the elevator shaft.

"Of course I am," Adam said. "Aren't you? We all are."

"I'm not." Maya Jordan spoke up clearly; the first time that anyone had heard her voice. "No danger. That's what the man said. It's just an adventure, like the dungeon level in a video game."

"And I left my magic sword at home," Danny muttered under his breath. Adam snorted.

"Maybe it is," Mac told her gently. "But remember, you can't reset this game if you go wrong."

She stared at him with troubled eyes. _Good,_ he thought. At least one person wasn't thinking solely of the money. For Maya, the appeal seemed to lie in the challenge itself. An intellectual exercise that called to her - something he understood all too well.

Mac opened his mouth to continue but, sadly, the time for discussion (friendly or otherwise) seemed to be over. All around him, people were drifting away, either singly or in pairs. Thanks to Jeremy Carter, the elevator shaft seemed to be the main focus of their attention, drawing them closer like moths to a flame. Mac knew that the battle was lost.

"You tried, boss," Adam said quietly.

"As did you," he returned. "It was a good idea, Adam. A peaceful solution. Nobody wins - that's thinking outside the box."

"And how about you?" Arabella stared at the three men with interest. "You going to try the challenge after all, or stay here and keep me company?"

Mac turned to Danny, who shrugged. "I don't mind. I'll play it either way. Besides, this is Adam's party. We're the guests here. He's the contestant - apparently. He should choose."

Adam's eyes grew round with shock. Clearly, he didn't know whether to be proud or horrified at the dubious honour Danny had just bestowed upon him. Resisting the urge to laugh, Mac added his own affirmation. "You're right. Make your choice, Adam. We'll do whatever you say."

"You _will_?"

"We will," Danny grinned. "No pressure."

Adam looked from one to the other. "Okay..." he muttered slowly, thinking aloud. "Well, I still kinda like my first plan. But if everyone else is going to try and win this thing, that's pretty much a bust, so... I guess it wouldn't hurt to do the same? Not for the money," he added hastily. "It's just that... if someone can find Thorne quickly, then it's over, right? The building lets us go and we're home sweet home. Besides..." He shrugged.

"You want to see if you can do it," was Mac's simple observation.

"Yes." Adam stared at his boss. "Is that okay?"

"Buddy, we're not going to think any less of you because you want to win some crazy game before the next guy does." Danny blundered in before Mac could speak, but the meaning behind his words struck an immediate chord. "Especially when the 'next guy' is a jerk. You want to do this, we'll help you. Besides, it might be fun. Better than sitting here whistling in the dark. No offense," he added quickly.

Arabella nodded. "None taken."

Lifting her bag from the floor, she held it out to Adam. He took it slowly, gazing at her with a puzzled expression.

"If you're going on a quest, you'll need supplies," she offered. "It's full of junk, and most of that will probably be useless, but you never know what you need until you need it. 'For want of a nail', and all that nonsense... Right? You can give it back to me at dawn. Or sooner, if you get lucky."

The gesture was casually made, but Mac sensed the warmth behind it. "Thank you," he told her, while Adam raised his eyebrows and tried not to look dismayed at the thought of lugging Arabella's lumpy sack around with him. "What will you do here all alone?"

Before she could answer, Danny gave a short gasp. "Hey!"

They spun round, startled.

"Where's the guy?" he hissed. "The piano man. She shouldn't _be_ alone. He should be right here with us. But I haven't seen him since the lights went out - have you?"

Trying not to be too obvious about his action, Mac sent the beam of light from Adam's phone chasing all around the room. He counted under his breath as he picked out each contestant and their guest. Then he checked the corners, and even the space beneath the heavily-laden table of food.

Danny was right. The fussy little pianist had gone.

But the elevator had not yet returned to their floor since Farraday left - so where did he go?

"There's another way out," Adam murmured.

Mac nodded. Deep down, he felt an unexpected surge of satisfaction. "Yes, there is. And we're going to find it."


	8. Chapter 8

_**"Be an opener of doors."  
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)** _

It was fascinating, Lindsay noted, just how many people were casually dropping by to speak with Stella since she had started to work on the puzzle box half an hour ago. Its lure was remarkable. Stella herself had safely logged all of the other evidence as soon as she arrived back at the lab, but couldn't resist holding onto this particular item, even though her shift had officially ended. There was a familiar gleam in her eye.

 _You're hooked already,_ Lindsay thought. She knew her friend.

She also knew herself.

Home was beckoning, but the mystery's pull was greater. As yet another lab tech left the room, his spurious question answered, his gaze still straying to the artefact resting so innocently on the table, Lindsay abandoned her weakening resolve.

"Could I...?" she ventured hopefully, taking a pair of gloves from the nearest box. No need to finish the sentence. The look on her face was enough, she had no doubt.

"Of course. You know what they say. Two heads are better than one." With a generous smile, Stella picked up the puzzle and passed it across to Lindsay. As she did so, they both heard the hidden object shift inside. "The torment of Tantalus," she groaned.

"So near and yet so far," Lindsay nodded. "We can do this, Stella. What have you tried?"

Tucking a stray curl behind one ear in a habitual gesture, Stella began to list her findings.

"The ivory pieces are fixed, as far as I can tell. If there are any sliding panels, they must be made of wood. But their seams are completely invisible. I started by examining everything in a logical order..." Here, she looked a little sheepish. "But now I've just resorted to pushing and prodding randomly in the hope of unlocking the first move. Not very scientific, I'm afraid."

"Hey - luck has its place in any investigation." Lindsay grinned. Holding the box up to her nose, she inhaled carefully. "Smells nice," she admitted. "Like... spices?"

"Aftershave. Or body spray. I found it in a chest full of clothes. The scent was on those too."

Lindsay lowered the puzzle once more and propped it against her chest. With both thumbs, she started pressing panels, two at a time. Wood and wood. Wood and ivory. Double ivory. All at once, a sharp click made her jump. She almost dropped the box in her astonishment.

"No way!" Stella gasped.

"Beginner's luck?" she offered, trying to hide her delight.

Somehow, her actions had released a spring within the puzzle box that loosened it slightly. Seams that were tight now became far more easy to see - and hopefully, to manipulate. "Well, it's a start." Stella folded her arms. "I really ought to go home..." she added.

The two women glanced at each other.

"Half an hour more?" Lindsay suggested brightly.

Stella nodded with relief.

At that moment, Don Flack stuck his head around the doorway. For the second time in the space of two minutes, Lindsay jumped. The man was spending way too much time around her soft-footed boss, who was practically a ninja when it came to sneaking up on people.

"Puzzle?" Don said. "Guess what? I got one too. Mac still around...?"

**-x0x-**

As Danny could have told them if the building hadn't cut off all reception, Mac had a mystery of his own to solve that was larger and far more troubling than an antique box.

In order to preserve the battery on Adam's phone and save its valuable app for emergencies, they had turned the whole thing off for now. Instead, Danny had offered the paler glow from his own cell as an alternative source of light. In their search for a second exit from the room, they chose the far wall as a logical place to start. The only other solution was a trapdoor in the floor, which seemed unlikely.

 _Or maybe not,_ Danny thought with a sigh. Who knew what clichés were in store for them all - assuming that they managed to make it out of this room in the first place?

Gloom and sarcasm were unproductive, so he shrugged them off quickly and led the way to the back of the room. Arabella followed the three men, full of curiosity and clearly wanting to help as much as she could at this early stage. No one else paid any attention to their movements, dismissing them as weak and unimportant.

"Hey Danny?" Adam whispered. "Sorry, okay?"

"For what?"

"Well - for this, of course." The younger man sounded surprised.

"Why? You set this up? Your name Thorne? You some kind of game-playing megalomaniac?" The last phrase had a nice ring to it. Danny gave a momentary grin as it echoed in his head.

"No, but..."

"Adam." He paused and rounded on his friend. "I crashed this party. Me. And I'm glad I did."

"You are?" Adam's voice rose uncertainly on the second word.

"Of course. You, me an' Mac - we're a team, alright? You wanna do this thing alone?"

"No way." The reply was heartfelt and immediate.

"I didn't think so. Besides - two smart detectives and a genius lab rat? I'd say our odds of winning this are pretty good. Wouldn't you?"

Maybe it was the word 'genius' that threw Adam into confusion. More likely, it was Mac's frown, as he waited for them by the wall with a none-too-patient air. Either way, Danny could tell that the conversation was over. Hopefully, he had made his point. They needed to stay sharp on this one, he could tell.

Reaching the banner, they discovered that they were just about level with Marcus Thorne's jutting chin. The rest of his glare was lost in the shadows above them - _thank goodness,_ Danny thought.

Mac lifted one side of the heavy cloth away from the wall and peered behind it, gesturing for Danny to lend him some light as he did so. "Eureka," he murmured.

"A door?" Adam whispered.

"That was easy," Arabella said wryly.

"Too easy." Danny's shoulder blades were twitching, as a wave of doubt swept over him. What if it was... "Booby-trapped?" he blurted out.

Too late. Mac's hand was already on the doorknob. To Danny's great relief, there was no sizzle of electricity, or puff of smoke. His boss did not disintegrate like a cartoon figure who has fallen prey to his own cunning trap.

 _This is going to be a stressful night,_ he realised, _if every obstacle in our path makes me feel that nervous._

Arabella pulled the banner out further and they all slipped behind it; three bold adventurers in a row. "Good luck," she hissed, and let it drop, just as Mac turned the knob and gave the door a push.

It swung open with ridiculous ease.

"Here goes nothing," Danny muttered, as they stepped through, one after the other, into the gloom beyond.


	9. Chapter 9

_**"And so I am become a Knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows."  
** _ _**(Mark Twain)** _

The door closed behind them with a gentle thump, but they barely noticed. They were too busy staring at the new world into which they had ventured; a world of grey walls and low ceilings that were far too close for comfort. Adam breathed in and wrapped his arms around his body, feeling quite unnerved.

Studying the wall directly beside him, he reached up to finger the thin strip of pale blue light that ran along it, level with his head.

"Guess we won't be needing this, then," Danny said, closing his cell phone and sticking it back in his pocket.

"So strange..." Adam murmured. The strip was made up of thousands of tiny glowing dots that brightened further when his hand moved in to touch them. He jerked back, startled. "Are they... sensors?"

"Perhaps we're being watched," Mac said ominously.

An unpleasant thought. Still... _I chose this path,_ Adam told himself. _Time to get on with it._ He shouldered Arabella's lumpy bag and nodded to his boss. "I'm guessing... that way?" It was a feeble joke, given that the only other way was back through the door. But at least he had managed to muster up some humour. In spite of Danny's reassurances, Adam still felt responsible for placing them in this situation. _Me and my pride,_ he thought crossly. Why, oh why had he ever entered that stupid online competition? He, of all people, ought to know better than to trust anything on the internet. No matter how legitimate it seemed to be.

They set off, not in single file but side by side, bolstered by each other's company. It was a tight squeeze, but nobody wanted to fall back and walk on their own. Adam felt the slap, slap, slap of the Port-all against his leg and wondered what on earth was inside it. No time to stop and look now, though. Mac had set the pace and it was a quick one. Adam found himself hurrying to keep up. _Bang_ , went the bag and he knew that, if he survived this night, he was going to have the most enormous bruise upon his thigh.

He hoped that was the worst of it.

His right hand clenched around the bag strap and his jaw grew tight. A sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead. Memories clawed at him.

_Don't go there..._

"Think there's an end to this corridor?" he said, far too brightly.

Mac gave him a curious, sideways look. "There's always an end."

"Very deep, sensei. Very cryptic," Danny chuckled.

 _How does he do that?_ Adam wondered, peering around Mac. _Keep his head when everything around him is falling to pieces?_ Sometimes he envied Danny so much.

Still, his lightness of touch was certainly a comfort. Almost against his will, Adam's spirits began to rise. Unlike the floor, which had started to dip; a gentle slope that urged them onward. Above their heads, the ceiling followed its slow descent.

They lapsed into silence. Nobody spoke of their fear. To Adam, it felt as though they were being herded like beasts in a run. But where were they going?

Eventually, as the floor levelled out once more, they came to a bend in the corridor. Simple, and yet so disturbing. Adam exchanged a worried glance with Danny. Mac's eyes were narrow and his body was tense.

"It's a bend," said Danny, at last. "We go round this, there'll probably just be more of the same. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Adam agreed, with false bravado. Desperate to get the moment over with, he leapt ahead of them and around the corner. His cry of dismay was their first clue that Danny's prediction was utterly wrong.

As they hurried to join him, he pointed at the obstacle in their way. "That can't be good," he groaned.

"A dead end?" Mac sounded surprised.

"So we'll have to go back and start again." The realisation was disheartening. "We must have gone wrong already."

"No, wait." With a frown, Danny interrupted. "What about the pianist? Remember? The guy we've been following all this time? He must have gotten through here. Either that, or there's another way out hidden somewhere and we need to find it."

Sometimes, Adam thought, logic was such a comfort. Irrefutable facts that kept you from despair and sent you off in the right direction. His brain caught hold of Danny's thought and he stared at the panel with a sudden, deep suspicion.

It stood before them, smug and grey, as though it were waiting. But waiting for what?

"Okay. So there's no strip of light. Just a weird reflection." Adam stepped closer, followed by Mac. "Maybe it's not a proper wall?"

They reached out to touch it, while Danny hovered behind them, giving them room. At this point, the corridor felt tighter than ever. It was claustrophobic; as though the building were trying to swallow them whole. The thought made Adam shudder, but he pushed it aside with a valiant effort and concentrated on the puzzle instead.

Laying careful fingertips on the surface, he gasped in surprise. "It's cold," he said. "Like glass."

"With the perfect image of a wall printed on it like an old-fashioned photographic plate." Mac nodded. Fascination gleamed in his eyes. "And look here." He pointed. "Smudges."

Danny leaned between the two men and stared closely. "Fingerprints?" he suggested.

"That would be my guess. They're tilted sideways, here at the edge, as though someone tried to..."

"...slide the panel across!" Adam finished with relief. "Then it's not a dead end after all."

"It's a door," Danny grinned. He lifted his hand for a high-five - his injured hand. Spotting the tape around his fingers, he lowered it sheepishly and swapped it for the other one. Adam completed the gesture, smiling broadly and ignoring Danny's blunder.

"Aren't we celebrating a little early?" Mac said, feigning disapproval. A tell-tale smirk hovered at the corner of his mouth. It fell away, however, when he set his own hand to the panel and tried to move it. Nothing happened. His words had been prophetic after all. Adding his other palm, he tried to create some kind of friction between his skin and the glass, but to no avail. Whoever had closed this panel had done so far too firmly.

Adam studied the edges; top, bottom and sides. The fit was impossibly snug. Closing his eyes, he stepped back against the nearby wall and pondered the problem. At the same time, Danny moved forwards, adding his own strength to that of his boss. Adam could hear them grunting as they slipped and strained. Their fingers squeaked on the stubborn glass, like rubber soles on a polished floor.

Like rubber...

Adam's eyes popped open and he beamed.

Fired by the warmth of his idea, he dropped the bag and waved his arms at the two men. "Wait. Stand back," he told them. "I think I've got it..."

Ignoring their startled expressions, he lay down on his back and raised his feet to the panel, setting them firmly against the glass. The soles of his sneakers made a satisfying noise as he shifted into a comfortable position.

"You gotta be kidding me," Danny said softly.

Mac just laughed.

"Remember this," Adam quipped from the floor, "when you write my next evaluation."

"I'll remember it the next time you try to slip an expensive technical item past my budget," Mac countered. "Clearly, you can manage on a shoestring..."

"Or a shoe," Danny chuckled. "You do this, buddy, and I'll think twice before I mock your fashion sense again. I promise."

"That's just great," Adam groaned, peering up at the two comedians above him. "No more talk, okay? I'm concentrating."

Laying his palms face down on the floor beside his body for support, he pushed in two directions. Downwards with his shoulders and his upper back. Sideways with his legs. He made no noise but the rigid set of his neck and the redness in his face spoke volumes.

With a creak and a gentle shudder, the glass began to move.

Adam began to mimic a walking motion, sending the whole thing sliding neatly into the opposite wall, where it disappeared completely.

The way ahead was clear. Another corridor, just like the first one.

"I don't believe it," Danny gasped. No need for jokes now. To Adam's delight, he sounded truly impressed. "Good thinking, buddy."

"Well done," Mac agreed.

Pushing himself up from the floor in a single, rolling move that should have been elegant but turned out to be something of a scramble, Adam dashed the sweat from his forehead and gave a shy smile of triumph, followed by his trademark cry. "Whaddup...?"

Maybe this challenge was going to be fun after all.


	10. Chapter 10

_**"No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected."  
** _ _**(Julius Caesar)** _

"Mac's not here. Said he had to leave early. I got the distinct impression that it was personal, so I didn't like to pry. He had that look on his face. You know the one..." Stella shrugged.

"I do," Flack said with feeling. He knew it very well.

Lindsay allowed herself a tiny smile and stayed quiet as she remembered the thumbs-up Danny had given her when he left Mac's office that morning.

Stella's laugh was merry. "Anything we can do? Or is it another secret?"

"No secret. It's a little weird, though."

"Okay, now I'm intrigued," Lindsay cut in at last. "You _have_ to tell us."

"Hey - I'm still tryin' to work out if I dreamed the whole thing, okay?" With the skill of a natural born storyteller, Don began to spin the tale of his recent adventure. When he came to the part where the whole building sheathed itself in armour, Stella looked dubious.

Lindsay's reaction, however, was one of shock - Ice-cold, and far too familiar. Not to mention impossible to hide. And now she felt guilty as well, though the fault was not hers.

"Thorne Tower?" she said. "Are you sure?"

"Real sure." Don caught her expression. "You know something I don't?"

Where to start? She tried not to look at Stella. "Only this. Danny's there. Right now," she confessed. "With Mac... and Adam."

"In the _tower_?" Stella cried. "I don't understand. Lindsay, what's going on?" There was an edge to her voice.

"Another secret, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Stella. It wasn't mine to tell - or Mac's, for that matter," she added hastily, trying to explain. "But I'll tell it now." They waited as she searched for the words. Her mind was drifting apart, like a cloud. She pulled it back together. "Adam won some kind of competition when he was on sick-leave. His prize was a trip to Thorne Tower. On its opening night. That's tonight," she added unnecessarily.

"And the others? Mac and Danny?"

"Danny knew. He knew that Adam hadn't told another soul, for some reason. That he was going there all alone. And it just didn't feel right. So he came up with a plan - to go round to Adam's place this evening and show his support. To make Adam take him." Her face fell. "He asked me for advice and I told him I thought it was a good idea..."

"Sounds like you were right," Don said grimly. "You wanna stop your guilt trip for a moment and picture Ross in that fortress all by himself?"

The point was a good one. Lindsay swallowed. "Thanks," she muttered.

"And Mac?" Stella asked her quietly. To Lindsay's great relief, her voice was warm again, and sympathetic.

"Yeah," Don chimed in. "No offense to the guy - he looks great in a tux, and all - but I would have thought that if Danny was going to take anyone to a party, it'd be you." His humour was sly; a further attempt to raise her spirits.

"I'm not really sure. Danny wouldn't explain. He did have a reason; I could tell. I think..." Lindsay stopped and shook her head. She had her suspicions, of course - but why make a bad situation even more complicated? Only one thing mattered right now. One question, that had to be answered.

 _Were_ their friends in the tower?

Pulling out her cell phone, she brought up Danny's number and dialled it. Her face fell as she listened to the tone. "Out of range," she told them, trying to keep her voice steady.

Don tried Mac. "Same here." He turned to Stella. "You got Ross's number?"

"In the office." She left the room in a hurry, her stride full of urgency. They watched her go.

"This is crazy." Lindsay's head was beginning to ache. "Are they trapped? What's going on, do you suppose?"

The panic in her voice alerted Don and he strove to reassure her. "Look - we don't know for certain that they're in there, okay? They could have been late. The lockdown could have happened before they got there."

"You don't believe that," she told him flatly.

"I know how to find out, though." He frowned, and she guessed that he was picturing the scene. "There were TV cameras all over the place when Jess and I got there, okay? I'm betting they filmed the guests as they went in. Give me half an hour. I'll soon tell you whether or not they're inside."

Lindsay shook her head. "It's not fair, Don. They've only just..." She couldn't finish her sentence - but then, she didn't have to. Don knew. It was written all over his face. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

_They've only just recovered from their last ordeal._

_It isn't fair..._

**-x0x-**

Mac had grown accustomed to Adam's nervous style of conversation over the last year or so. Familiarity didn't stop him wishing that he could grab the young man by the shoulders and force him to get to the point - but he understood the compulsion and its probable cause. Sometimes, though he would never admit it to anyone else, he found Adam highly entertaining. A ray of sunshine in a dark and serious profession.

Right now, however, Adam was silent to the point of being completely withdrawn. He walked a few steps ahead, gazing down the endless corridor with that focussed look that he always go in his blue eyes whenever a problem drew him in so deeply that it took him to another place; a world of his own where the only thing that mattered was the puzzle and its solution. Mac liked this Adam even more than the talkative one. He knew that world, and envied the man his easy access to it.

So - Adam was concentrating.

Danny, on the other hand, could not stop talking.

Mac listened patiently.

"Hey, boss - you know in those sci-fi shows, right, where the captain walks through the spaceship and all the corridors look the same? So you think he's heading somewhere - point A to point B - but really there's only one corridor 'cos the budget wouldn't stretch to a bigger set, and they're actually walkin' in circles...?"

"You think we're going nowhere?"

"Something like that, yeah." Danny's eyes were sharp behind his glasses. "We've turned left again. What's to stop us ending up right back where we started?"

"Seems a little pointless."

"Sure, but this building is like a maze. Isn't 'pointless' kind of... well, the point? Dead ends and confusion? Who's to say that there's a path here? No one told us to come this way."

"The pianist must have done." Mac clung to his optimism, even though it was fading.

"So we thought, okay? What if we were wrong?"

"Danny..." Stopping in his tracks, Mac sighed and shook his head. They shared a weary look. "I don't suppose..."

Whatever he was about to say flew right out of his mind, as a thump and a startled cry yanked their attention back to Adam.

Who was nowhere to be seen.

"Say what?" Danny yelled, stepping forwards. Mac grabbed his arm.

"It's a trap," he hissed. "We don't know what triggers it. Stand still!"

"Oh. _Oh._ " Danny's eyes grew wide. "Not good. You think it's in the walls?"

"More likely the floor. Adam was walking right in the middle of the corridor. Why would he lean on a wall? There must be something..." Mac paused. "Adam!" he shouted. "Adam, can you hear me?"

Nothing. A lump rose in his throat but he swallowed it down. No time for panic.

"Adam!" His voice grew louder. Danny joined in.

But as the echoes died away, there was only silence, save for their rapid breath and the pounding of their anxious hearts.

Danny dropped to his knees. At first, Mac thought that he was sinking in despair. But his next move was an unexpectedly practical one. He lay down on his stomach and began to crawl forwards, his nose almost touching the floor as he searched for cracks or hidden switches.

Bending down behind him, Mac caught hold of his ankles. Danny gave a reluctant laugh. "Tickles," he admitted.

"Sorry." Mac smiled grimly. "Tell me what you see."

"A lot of dust, for a brand new building. This ain't good for my tux, Mac. Nothin' else, though... no, wait!" He stiffened, running his fingers along a spot in the floor that was right in front of him. "I got it. There's a trapdoor here. Poor Adam - he must be freakin' out down there. Wherever 'there' is..."

"So much for safety protocols," Mac growled. Kneeling down, he wriggled along until he was lying next to Danny.

"What now?"

"Simple. We get him out of there."

"Right. Simple." Danny nodded. "And - ah, no disrespect, but how do you plan to do that, boss?"

To Mac's dismay, his mind was utterly blank.

**-x0x-**

Like a beetle on its back, Adam lay spread-eagled in the trap. His arms twitched feebly as he fought for air. It was a terrifying moment. The force of his landing had knocked the breath right out of his body, which seemed to be punishing him in return. Fear told him to panic- but Adam's survival instinct was stronger, and he knew what to do. Stay calm. Relax.

He let his arms go limp and tried to imagine a gentle rise and fall... rise and fall...

 _What up...?_ he thought giddily, staring at the bright spots that danced before his eyes.

Gradually, his chest dropped and the tension subsided, melting away into the floor beneath him. With an effort, he finally drew in enough air to fill his aching lungs.

Offering up a prayer of thanks to the God who watched over clumsy lab rats and kept them from breaking their necks - or any other part of their anatomy - Adam rolled onto his side and tried to sit up.

It took several attempts but at last he was upright; his legs stretched out, his hands behind him for support, and his mouth wide open as he gazed at the place into which his own bad luck had dropped him.

The blue strip of light winked back at him in a friendly manner.

It ran down from the ceiling, which would have been just above his head, had he been standing. As it neared the floor, it turned and headed off into the shadows, a dwindling guideline, staining the tunnel with its wavering glow.

"I'm under the floor," Adam murmured. That much was obvious, of course - but what was he doing there? And how on earth was he going to get out? "Mac will help me." He said it boldly, in order to make himself believe it. The boss-man was invincible. If there was a way, then he would find it.

A smaller thought poked sharply at the corner of his mind. Small but insistent. _And what about you? What will you do...?_

Curl up in a ball again and wait to be rescued?

Cry...?

He dashed an angry palm at his eyes and struggled to his feet, grabbing the Port-all, which had landed nearby when he fell. The top of his curly head brushed the ceiling - or was it the floor? Adam smacked the underside of the trapdoor in frustration, feeling its thickness with his fist as he did so. It was plain to see that there was no way of opening it from this side. He was stuck.

"Mac?" he yelled, his voice sounding thin and tired to his ears in the narrow tunnel. "Hey, Mac? Danny! I'm down here..."

No answering call. No footsteps overhead. No sudden figure plunging through to join him.

Nothing.

He was on his own.

Adam glared at the blue strip of light. "You'd better not be leading me somewhere even worse," he told it archly.

With a deep sense of foreboding, Adam set off down the tunnel, his fingers trailing along the wall and Arabella's bag still crashing into his leg with every move that he made, in spite of his best efforts to adjust it.


	11. Chapter 11

_**"I have become my own version of an optimist. If I can't make it through one door, I'll go through another door - or I'll make a door. Something terrific will come, no matter how dark the present."  
** _ _**(Rabindranath Tagore)** _

When Don Flack returned to Thorne Tower, he found that the crowd had tripled. _Leave it to New Yorkers to find entertainment in a giant metal box,_ he thought. Angell had called for reinforcements, predicting the rise in numbers and the spread of panic. Uniformed officers were posted at regular intervals, watching the spectators and confining their anxious surge to a steady swell.

"There you are," Jess grinned, as he reached her side. "What did Mac say?"

"Mac said nothing. Wait till you hear this, okay? According to Lindsay, he's in there right now, with Messer and Adam Ross."

"The lab guy from the hostage thing last month? The one who saved those cops?"

Flack nodded. Jess swore under her breath - unusual for her. "That's bad luck. Are you certain they're in there?"

"Not yet." He craned his neck and scanned the crowd, searching for... "Ah! That's it."

"A TV crew?" Jess narrowed her eyes for a moment. "Oh - I get it. Proof. You think they filmed the guests."

"I'm hoping so." He rubbed his hands and raised one eyebrow. "Time for a little Flack charm."

**-x0x-**

"Are you sure?"

Mac frowned at Danny, who was holding out his hand. His good hand. "Boss, I got this. The only way to trigger the trap is to step on it, right? I won't let you fall. I'm set." He shifted his weight from side to side, preparing himself. Both feet were planted firmly, wide apart, and his knees were bent to take the strain. His grin was encouraging - but Mac was not convinced.

"And if you can't?"

"Then I guess at least we've found Adam?" He shrugged. "What choice do we have? Besides, this was your idea."

"I know. That doesn't mean I have to like it." Mac reached out with both hands. He wrapped the first one carefully around Danny's forearm and settled the other in an even tighter grip, palm to palm. Danny's fingers clenched against his own. They were white already.

"Go," he hissed.

Mac started to shuffle backwards. As his heels met the edge of the invisible trapdoor, he felt a corresponding lurch in his gut. Stepping into danger went against every natural instinct. But Adam was down there. Stuck beneath the floor - unconscious, for all they knew.

_What choice do we have?_

A tell-tale shift was his only warning. The panel flew downwards, taking him with it, and suddenly he was dangling in mid-air. His chest slammed painfully against the side of the trap - but Danny had him. Red in the face, he pulled against his boss's weight with ever-increasing difficulty.

"Don't let it close," he said urgently, "or you'll be half the man you used to be..."

"Don't joke," Mac gasped. "That isn't funny!"

He peered down between his dangling shoes. The floor didn't seem to be all that far away. Yet still there was no sign of Adam.

**-x0x-**

"Nice try, detective." The reporter was small and feisty. "You got a warrant? This is real good stuff. Award-winning. My ticket off this second-rate crew and into the big leagues."

"Hey!" said a sleazy-looking cameraman who was lounging nearby and nibbling holes in the lip of an empty coffee cup. Every now and then, he spat out a wad of pulp. Flack edged backwards to avoid the repulsive missile.

So much for charm.

He had flashed the woman his most endearing smile, to no avail. Clearly, she was immune. Or driven. Looking at her crew, he found himself leaning towards the latter. Layabouts, the lot of them, while she was a force of nature in an almost-designer suit. He studied her lacquered hair, her bright lips and her perfectly manicured nails. Time for a new approach.

Taking a deep breath, he started again. "My mistake," he told her with a serious air. "I see now that you're a woman of integrity."

The tilt of her head was tiny but unmistakeable.

"I should have been straight with you, right from the start."

"Go on...?"

"Your footage is vital. Could be a matter of life or death." He held her gaze. "You help me, I'll help you."

She frowned. "Exclusive?"

"Hey - it's your material." Flack nodded, and the woman stuck out her hand.

"Deal," she said. "I'll hold you to your word, detective. I want everything."

"When I know, you'll know," he promised her, flashing _that_ smile once again.

**-x0x-**

Danny could feel his dress-shoes sliding nearer to the gaping hole in the floor. He bore down with all of his might as Mac continued to peer into the void below, searching desperately for any sign of their lost companion.

"Hey guys," said a familiar voice. "Need some help?"

Almost. He almost dropped his boss. Through a trapdoor, into oblivion.

"Adam?" they both cried.

"Are you freakin' _kidding_ me?" Danny added, under his breath.

Adam gave one of his nervous laughs but had the grace to look shamefaced as well. "I'm back," he offered feebly, skirting around the trap and lending Danny his own good hand as they pulled Mac out of the hole and onto the nice safe floor beside it.

"So you are," Mac said. "Good of you to join us, Adam."

The lab tech helped him up with a wary expression on his face. "You're not... mad, are you? Boss, I didn't mean to, okay? I don't really know what happened. One minute I was walking along the corridor, alright, and the next I was seeing stars."

"You hurt?" Danny asked him gruffly. Inside, he was full of such relief that he could barely speak.

"I'm fine."

 _Stock answer,_ Danny thought, but he said nothing. No blood and no bruises. (Fresh ones, anyway.) Not even a tear in his oversized tux. He'd take the man at his word, for now.

Adam's voice grew quiet as he bowed his head before them. "Thanks for trying to get me out," he said, glancing back at the hole, which had sealed itself without a single crack to show that it had ever been there.

"We should have known you'd find a way," Mac said kindly.

Adam flushed.

"I did," he said. "I followed the light. And boss, you have to see this..."

**-x0x-**

Flack tried to find a safe place to sit amidst the junk food wrappers and piles of equipment. The van was a cess-pit on wheels. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to inhale. Exactly how long _could_ a person hold their breath before they passed out?

"Here," said the cameraman, who had swapped his empty cup for a large wad of gum. He swirled it noisily between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, pausing every now and then to mash it with his teeth, in full view of Flack's horrified eyes.

His sympathy for the reporter went up another notch.

The cameraman slapped at a couple of buttons and a screen burst into life, first with static and then with a wobbly shot of the tower. "That's perfect," Flack told him. "It's still light, so the party's just gettin' started." He checked the time stamp in the corner of the screen. "Twenty past five. You been there that long?"

"Hey, we go where the action is," drawled the cameraman.

Behind them both, the reporter gave a snort. "I had to drag him out of the break room by the scruff of his neck," she muttered.

'Scruff' was the right word. "Great image," Flack said. "Thanks."

The reporter laughed. "Beth Rydell," she offered, with a brief nod.

 _Names now, is it? She must be warming to me after all._ "Don Flack," he returned.

"So tell me - what are you looking for, Don Flack?"

"I need to see each guest as they arrive." He leaned in closer to the screen and stabbed his finger at the glass. "Can you go faster?"

Showing a spark of interest at last, the cameraman pressed another button. The crowd became manic. Figures darted up to the door with ridiculous haste. "There!" Flack cried at last. "Stop there."

The playback halted and he stared at the screen before him.

Three men, stepping from a cab, dressed in tuxedos.

Flack shook his head. Until that moment, part of him had been reluctant to believe it. Now, he had no choice. "Wrong place, _wrong_ time," he muttered, as he reached for his cell phone and keyed in Stella's number.


	12. Chapter 12

_**"People are more than just the way they look."  
(Madeline L'Engle)** _

Sid Hammerback prided himself on being a man who loved his work and carried it out to the best of his ability. As such, he spent rather a lot of his free time exploring the complex subject of death - a morbid hobby, no doubt, and one which led to raised eyebrows (Mac's, more often than not) whenever he mentioned it. Sid didn't care. Each little gem of knowledge was a key - the key to a mystery that was sure to reach his table one day.

And yet, in spite of all his study, here was a mystery that taunted him and would not give up its secrets.

The worst thing was, he _knew_. He knew he had seen the marks on Rudy Nash's body somewhere before. And he just couldn't place them.

Like a word that refused to edge over the tip of his tongue, the memory hid in some dark and dusty corner of his overstuffed brain. He searched for it in vain as he washed Nash's body, letting his thoughts flow along with the trickle of water that bore away the redness of a violent end, leaving pale white skin and a body full of secrets yet to be unlocked.

The young man's face was peaceful at last. Wet hair fell back from his forehead, brushing the metal surface of the table with dark curly tendrils that refused to behave respectfully, even in death. His eyes were closed, and the wrinkles that surrounded them made Rudy look as though he were smiling, even though his lips were slack. Wrinkles of concentration, not age, thought Sid with a sigh. Together with the sharp line between his brows, they marked him as someone who had spent most of their short life studying or peering at a screen.

"A waste? Or a pleasure?" he wondered. Not that it was his place to judge. After all, he really couldn't comment on another man's lifestyle when most people baulked at his own.

As the last drops of water drained away, Sid bent over to peer more closely at the jagged wound which, in all likelihood, had stolen the boy's life away just as he was finally learning to live it.

The cut was a deep one, and vicious. Its rough edge suggested a weapon of convenience, or possibly sentiment, rather than a blade. It had severed the brachial artery in one single slice - through luck or good judgement, Sid had no way of knowing.

Cause of death, then, was straightforward.

Exsanguination. Major blood loss from a major vessel.

And yet...

The imprints mocked him, vivid welts on the lifeless figure. Too precise to be the result of simple restraint.

An echo stirred. Not simple... but restraint. _There_ was a clue.

Sid gave a tiny smile of satisfaction.

**-x0x-**

"I don't understand." Sheldon's voice in Stella's ear sounded small and far away.

"That makes two of us." She swallowed the urge to sigh. Her thoughts had been in such a muddle, ever since Don's call. "I need you back here, okay?"

"On my way," he reassured her.

"Thank you," Stella told him, grateful for his prompt response - so prompt that Hawkes had already gone, she realised a moment later. She was speaking to thin air.

Setting her phone down, she stared at it blankly. Her mind felt splintered. Part of her longed to be inside the tower. How else could she help Mac and the others?

"Talk about crazy," she murmured. This was real life, not science fiction. Skyscrapers didn't sprout armour, and Manhattan 'royalty' cared more about cocktail parties and jet-setting lifestyles than sealing themselves inside a giant fortress.

What was Thorne playing at?

_Playing..._

The word struck a heavy chord. Was this just a game, or something far more serious?

And how on earth had Adam Ross, of all people, tangled himself and his friends in the middle?

Too many questions. Stella was buzzing with nerves. _I need something constructive to do,_ she decided. Leaving her office, she went in search of the enigmatic puzzle box. That was the key. She was certain - a gut reaction, urgent and strong.

Mac would smile and tell her to follow the evidence, not just her gut. A fine example of the pot and the kettle. But Mac wasn't here. And everything rested on her now.

Taking a deep breath, Stella put on a calm face and stepped through the doorway of the Trace lab, startling Lindsay in the process.

"Any luck?"

She tried not to look too dismayed when Lindsay shook her head.

**-x0x-**

Mac stared in surprise. Adam was beckoning gently.

"See what?" Danny voiced the obvious question. "Adam, how did you get here?"

"I told you," he said, looking slightly exasperated. "I followed the light."

"Of course you did. And, um... how hard did you hit your head when you fell?"

"Danny." Mac could see that Adam was not in the mood for jokes right now. Nor was he acting erratically - even for him. His eyes were bright and his gesturing hand was insistent. "I think what Adam means is, if we follow him, he'll show us. Right?"

"Right, boss," Adam said with relief. "Come on. It isn't far."

He started to edge past the trap once more, leading the way. Before they could follow him, however, the unexpected sound of footsteps reached their ears. The three men paused; Adam hugging the wall. Clearly, he was in no hurry to repeat his trip.

Mac turned.

A wary group was making its way towards them, moving quickly. Four women, in a nervous huddle. A red suit - that was Maya Jordan. Clinging to her arm was the pale friend. Behind them, hand in hand, were the mother and her daughter.

Watching with interest as they came closer, Mac could see that all of their expressions were the same. Defeat, behind a flimsy mask of truculence. Only the pale girl kept her head down. Her long fringe covered her eyes and her shoulders were drooping. Maya seemed to tolerate her touch but gave her no other attention. An odd kind of friendship.

"We found the door," Maya said unnecessarily, halting in front of him.

"So I see." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Safety in numbers?"

She glanced back at the rest of her group.

"You could say that." The smile seemed to warm her up and she tried one out in return. Mac rather liked it. Honest and open. Always a good sign. 

Beside him, Danny piped up. "You want to join us?"

"Yess," said the pale girl, lifting her head. Her voice was practically a whisper. "Please..."

"This is my friend, Jane Brooke," Maya told them. She seemed to have adopted the role of spokesperson for the little group, waving an airy hand behind her as she completed her introductions. "Anna. Grace. And I'm..."

"Maya Jordan," Danny nodded. "Yeah, we know."

Meanwhile, Adam had slipped back to join them. He smiled at the women shyly. "Hi," he said. "I'm Adam."

Maya looked surprised. "You are?" When his eyes grew wide in confusion, she hastened to explain. "I read your paper. It was really good. Original. And quirky."

"That's our Adam," Danny muttered, under his breath but loud enough for Mac to hear. For once, the lab tech did not laugh at his joke.

"Hey, thanks," he told the girl. "I'm sorry - I didn't get a chance to read yours."

"Doesn't matter. It was mostly computer jargon anyway. Hard to follow."

"I like computers," Adam smiled.

Behind Maya, there was a muffled snort. Apparently, Grace felt the conversation had gone on long enough. Mac could feel the force of her derision, like a heat that radiated from her entire body. It had already wilted her daughter, who bore a constant air of less than patient suffering. "Mother..." she sighed, but there was no conviction in her voice. Grace blundered on, unchecked.

"You're a policeman, right?" she demanded.

"Detective. I'm a CSI." In this woman's eyes, he could tell, details were important. "Head of the New York Crime Lab."

His guess was correct. She gave a slight bow of her dark head and, when she spoke again, it was with respect.

"Then you may lead," she said.

"Thanks so much," Danny murmured. This time, Adam did laugh, and so did Maya Jordan. Even Anna's eyes held a gleam of silent delight. Grace ignored him, like a noblewoman who does not even see the peasants at her feet.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Mac looked at Adam. Everyone followed his gaze, even Grace, he noted with satisfaction. "Well?" he said.

To Adam's credit, he bore their scrutiny and did not falter. "It's just up ahead. I've found a way out of the corridor at last. Oh - and watch your step," he added, smiling, as Mac began to guide the new members of their expedition around the invisible trap. "Been there. Done that. And trust me - you wouldn't enjoy it."


	13. Chapter 13

_**"You don't invent circumstances, but when they happen they reveal human nature."  
** _ _**(Louis Khan)** _

Proudly, Adam led the little group around the next bend in the corridor. He watched Mac's expression, eager to see his boss's reaction when he realised the significance of Adam's accidental discovery.

"A door in the wall?" Danny said. "But you fell through the floor."

"I know. Crazy, huh?" Adam grinned.

Mac's keen eyes lingered on the folded wedge of card that had been squeezed into th crack beneath the door, holding it open. It was Adam's invitation, which the giant sentry had returned to him as he entered the building. "Low-tech again?"

"Simple problem, simple solution." He shrugged. "I thought that, if it closed, I might not be able to find it again without going... well, you know. The long way round."

Behind Mac, Maya Jordan was nodding her dark head. Clearly, she was a fan of practicality.

Stepping forwards, Danny stuck his head through the doorway. "Oh, very nice," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Very retro. Concrete walls, cables and heating ducts. And I thought the ugly grey corridor was bad."

"Okay - but you don't understand." Adam's tone was defensive. "The corridor goes on forever, right? We've kind of established that. I think this might be the real way down off this level. Other than the elevator, I mean. Look at the plaque on that wall, Danny. Doesn't that help us?"

"'Maintenance Shaft B'," Danny read. "Yep. Very helpful."

"Maintenance _shaft_?" Grace Adachi looked horrorstruck. "You don't mean _ladders_?"

"Actually, more of a walkway." Adam turned back to Mac with a helpless look on his face. "What do you think, boss?" No one else seemed to appreciate the brilliance of his plan, and he was starting to feel discouraged.

Mac edged past Danny, onto the wide metal platform that was just beyond the door. To Adam's great relief, he was nodding thoughtfully. A warm flow of air rose up through the shaft, ruffling his short hair as he leaned over the rail and stared downwards. "It's like an internal fire-escape," he commented, clearly intrigued. "How on earth did you get here? Danny's right - you fell through the floor."

"Yes, into a tunnel that came out onto a platform directly below this one." Adam joined him. Together, they studied the black pit that fell away beneath them. A blue spiral, curving downwards into the shadows in line with the metal stairway, was all that could be seen of the ever-present strip of light. Without it, the shaft would be an abyss. It was far from appealing. "When I first saw the drop, I must admit, it freaked me out." He gave a little smile. "Kind of glad no one saw that."

"No kidding," muttered Anna, who was looking distinctly nervous herself. "You're not actually suggesting we go down this way, are you? Have you _any_ idea what floor we're on?"

"Seventy-two," said a soft voice behind her.

The whole group turned as one. Jane Brooke was so startled by their combined gaze that a tinge of pink rose to the surface of her white cheeks. "I counted," she offered, by way of an explanation. "On the way up."

"Then you did what I couldn't." Mac's smile was encouraging.

"I call her the human calculator," Maya laughed, nudging her friend.

"Don't..." Jane whispered. "It's embarrassing."

Noting her distress, Mac drew them back to the subject at hand. "Seventy-two," he repeated. "And the voice said that Thorne's apartment was at the heart of the tower. Assuming that means the centre, then we need to climb down..."

"Thirty-six flights of stairs; yes, we got that, thank you." Anna's fear put a snap in her tone. Mac answered calmly.

"Any security measures are likely to be in the corridors. This shaft may be our safest option."

"Then what's to stop us climbing all the way down and simply waiting on the ground floor until the building decides to let us go?" Anna continued, clearly maintaining the argument as a way to disguise her own misgivings.

 _One guess,_ Adam thought, watching her mother's face. _Half a million dollars._

Mac glanced at Adam. "Respect," he said quietly. Then he turned back to the others. "You can do that, if you want to. The way I see it, each of us has three choices. Go back. Go round in circles. Or go forwards. We intend to try and solve the puzzle. That way, the game ends quickly."

"Then we better get going." The look on Danny's face spoke volumes. Enough talking. Time for some action. Adam found himself agreeing. Any more waiting around and he'd start to think too deeply about what it was they were just about to do.

The new additions to their group fell silent. One by one, they filed through the doorway, joining the three men on the metal platform. "We're with you," Maya said, on their behalf. Jane was trembling by now, and clung to her friend in a vice-like manner that looked rather painful, but Maya did not peel her fingers away, or even show that the grip was hurting her. Adam began to revise his opinion of the relationship between the two young women. There was more consideration on Maya's part than he had seen at first glance. Jane, meanwhile, was a riddle in ghostly form.

As for the mother and daughter - deep feeling, tightly controlled, was the strongest impression that he got from them.

He wondered what they thought of him. A fool in sneakers and a borrowed suit, no doubt. Yet somehow, their opinion didn't matter. Not when Mac was looking at him with those sharp eyes and that almost-grin. He was pleased, then. _I did something right,_ Adam thought.

_At least, I hope so..._

No one suggested closing the door behind them. Having it open like that was a comfort - a way back, should they suddenly need it. Adam prayed that his home-made doorstop would hold.

Shuffling into single file, they set off down the metal steps, their footsteps ringing in the confines of the shaft with a swollen sound that filled Adam's head and made him want to clap his hands over his ears. But he needed his hands on the rails, as the spiralling descent made him feel increasingly dizzy - and so he clenched his teeth instead, forcing his mind to veer away from the echoes and the vertigo, and the endless motion...

...straight into another dark place.

 _Not there,_ he told it harshly, wrenching it back again. This time, he concentrated on Mac's shoulders right in front of him, strong and determined, rising and falling with every step...

Much better.

Time passed - and suddenly, his dreamlike state was interrupted by a loud squeal, magnified and split apart until it became the howl of an unseen spirit.

Everyone froze.

"Jane, _please_!" Maya begged.

The heartless echo took up the cry.

_pleasepleasepleaseplease..._

"No!" It was the loudest that Adam had heard Jane speak. The word spun round and round the shaft. At last, growing weary of its game, the echo let it sink into the darkness beneath their feet.

At the back of the scattered line, Jane lay on the steps, one leg tucked beneath her, the other one sticking out in front - exactly as she had fallen. A look of terror masked her previously shy expression; made eerie with patches of blue light and elongated shadows cast by the strip above her head, which pulsed in a curious manner and then grew steady once more. "I can't," she hissed.

Her friend considered.

"Did you count?" she said. "Like I told you to?"

"Fifteen floors," Jane mumbled stubbornly. "Four hundred and eighty steps."

"And it didn't help?"

"No," the pale girl repeated. She clung to the metalwork with both hands. The rest of her body was rigid.

Behind Adam, Danny turned and darted back up the stairs, squeezing past Grace and her daughter, who leaned against the wall in order to give him space.

"Let me try," he whispered to Maya, as soon as he reached her. She frowned, but nodded.

 _Good luck,_ said her dubious expression.

Adam watched with bated breath. What could Danny do, that Maya couldn't? This girl was a stranger to him, and she was terrified. That put her far beyond logic and reason.

"Counting, huh?" Danny asked her gently.

Jane's nod was automatic.

Crouching down beside her, he waited. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. "I use baseball stats, myself," he told her, keeping his voice calm. "Late at night, when I just can't sleep. What works best for you?"

"I like prime numbers," she whispered, responding to his easy manner.

Danny pulled a face. "Not my strong suit, I'm afraid. How far can you go?"

"How long have you got?" she asked him, with a ghost of a smile.

"Ooh, challenge time. I like it. Show me," he said. Reaching out with a casual hand, he laid it across her own. She flinched, but did not pull away. His other hand slipped around her shoulder. "You ready?"

Jane looked at Maya. The dark-haired girl nodded back, with an expression of deep fascination. Adam knew exactly how she was feeling.

"Two," Jane said faintly, as she rose to her feet. Danny supported her all the way. Her movements were stiff, but showed no sign of pain.

"I got the next one. Three," he grinned.

Jane continued in a low voice, as she took her first shuddering steps. "Five. Seven."

"Eleven..." he chipped in.

Pausing, she flashed him another brief smile. "Thirteen..."

"Go on," Danny told the group. "We're right behind you."

"Wow," Adam sighed. He couldn't help himself. Softly, Maya echoed his amazement.

In this curious way, they set off down the stairs once more; Mac in front and Danny taking up the rear, with his enchanted partner and her grateful friend. Not once did he let go of her hand, and not once did her voice falter. When Adam turned to glance at them, Danny flashed him a wide grin that was full of relief.

Meanwhile, Mac had taken over the job of counting levels. Adam helped him. "Wouldn't want you to make a mistake," he joked - although there was little humour in the thought. _We don't even know what floor we need, really. Or what we'll find when we get there..._

To make matters worse, Adam's stomach was starting to complain. The noise wasn't quiet, and it certainly wasn't subtle. "We should have brought some of that party food with us," he moaned to his boss. Why hadn't they thought of _that_ when they were setting out?

"Look in the bag," Mac suggested. "Maybe Arabella keeps a secret stash. Some people do."

Pausing briefly, Adam slipped his hand into the heavy Port-all and swirled it around in a random, blind search. _Chocolate would be heaven,_ he thought dreamily. Or some kind of energy bar. Right now, he wouldn't even complain if he found a bag of sunflower seeds or something equally dull.

His fingers closed on a smooth oblong and he pulled it out, eyes wide and hopeful.

Mac gave a short laugh.

"Tasty," was his wry comment.

Adam looked down at the object in his hand. A pack of gum. Fantastic. "Want some?" he said, in an effort to save face, picking it open and holding the end out to his boss.

Mac waved it away. "No thanks."

With a shrug, he pulled out a flat stick and shoved it into his mouth. Anything to take his mind off the pangs that were coming far too frequently for comfort.

"Thirty-six," Mac said with satisfaction, moments later.

"I... what?"

"We've made it. We're here. I thought you were counting too?"

"Guess I got distracted. Sorry." Adam blushed.

They waited for the rest of the group to catch up. Just as they had at the start of their downward journey, the seven guests huddled together on a metal platform, beside a door. _The only difference?_ Adam thought. This one was shut.

Shut tight, as it turned out.

Mac's face betrayed the strain he felt, as he set his shoulder to the stubborn panel and pressed his weight against it. "Adam. Help me," he grunted.

In the end, there were three of them pushing with all their might - Mac, Adam and Maya, who sprang forward to help them.

Yet still the door would not budge.

Guilt was a crushing weight in Adam's chest. He had led them all the way down here. It had been his discovery, and his bright idea. Which meant that this was all his fault, and no one else's.

"The way I see it, each of us has three choices," Grace mimicked bitterly. Adam resisted the childish urge to slap her. "Go back. Go on to the bottom. Or sit here and rot..."


	14. Chapter 14

_**"Here's some advice. Stay alive."  
** _ _**(Suzanne Collins)** _

"This is hopeless," Maya sighed.

Mac stopped pushing. She was right. Clearly strength was not the solution here. Neither was sarcasm, however. Ignoring Grace Adachi, who hovered behind them, oozing discontent, he set his mind to the problem rather than his shoulder.

"Adam, go back up and test the doors on the next few levels. Maybe one of them will open. After all, you had no problems with the first one, did you?"

"No," Adam said in a troubled voice. Turning, he hurried away up the stairs, past the rest of the weary group.

Folding his arms, Mac stared at the door and creased his brow in concentration. It was slightly taller than he was, and made from metal, not wood, which meant that there was little chance of kicking it in successfully. Could there be a hidden latch somewhere that would release the lock? Squinting in the blue light, Mac bent down and began to examine the surface.

"What are you looking for?" Maya asked, crouching beside him.

"I don't know yet." He offered up a wry smile. "I'll let you know when I find it?" It was more of a question than a statement. Maya laughed, releasing some of the tension on the platform.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "we've tried pushing till we're blue in the face - no pun intended." She glanced at the light and grinned. "What if it opens inwards this time?"

"That," Mac said, "is exactly what I was thinking."

"Oh yes, _great_ suggestion," Grace chimed in yet again. "Where's the handle, young lady? No, wait; that's right - there _isn't_ one. How are you going to test your theory?"

Mac clenched his jaw. He was really starting to dislike the woman. Trying to ignore her, he ran his fingers up the metal and paused as they snagged on something unexpected. "I'll show you," he said. "If you'll loan me that brooch."

"My... what?" Grace's manicured nails hovered over the diamond-encrusted butterfly on her lapel. "How dare you, Detective Taylor? You want to force a door open using a priceless antique? It's a brooch, not a crowbar. Philistine!"

"Oh, come on, lady." That was Danny, full of exasperation.

"Mother, please." Anna sighed, and Mac heard years of frustration in that one expressive sound. "If it gets us off this god-forsaken platform, he can keep the ugly thing. You hardly ever wear it anyway." Reaching out, she twisted the clasp and removed the butterfly from her mother's jacket. Grace made a choking sound, but did not stop her. Anna passed the brooch to Mac.

"Keep your fingers crossed," he told her, by way of a 'thank you'. His eyes held a hint of mischief.

Standing up, he took the brooch pin and passed it through a tiny metal loop that he had discovered halfway up the door. He let it slip through until he reached the hinge. "An antique, you say? Let's hope that means good craftsmanship." Folding the pin back against the brooch as far as it would go, he took the whole thing in both hands and began to pull.

Creak...

_Whoosh._

The door swung open.

"Thank you," Mac told Grace politely, passing back the brooch.

**-x0x-**

From a platform three floors up, Adam saw the sudden glowing rectangle of light that meant success.

"Score a point for the boss man," he muttered under his breath, not wanting the echoes to claim his words and make them public.

"Adam! Hurry up," Mac called out into the void.

_up...up...up...up..._

A sudden, irrational fear of being left behind spurred Adam into motion. His feet began to pound on the metal steps and he found himself racing down the walkway with ever-increasing speed, to the point where he was almost out of control.

The rest of the group had disappeared. Only Mac remained on the platform, holding the door ajar and waiting patiently. As Adam flew towards him, he stepped backwards out of the way.

And the world exploded.

A wall of sound and heat enveloped Adam, driving him sideways over the railing. The gum flew from his mouth as he spun in mid-air. Terror made his hands flail until they connected, purely by chance, with the bar over which he had tumbled. He slammed against the metal struts and pain drove through his body. He knew that he was screaming, but his ears refused to work. Inside his head was a nasty throbbing sensation that made him feel sick. It took several minutes for him to realise that this was his heartbeat, trying to cope with his fear.

He swung from the metal rail, his fingers in a death-grip. Slowly, he awoke to the truth of his situation.

He was hanging over a pit. By his fingertips. There had been... an explosion?

 _Danny_ , his muddled brain recalled, as the buzzing in his ears receded. _The women. They were in the corridor..._

The thought was too awful. He pushed it away, but another one took its place, equally insistent. 

Mac. Where was Mac...?

"Oh, God. Oh, boss! Are you there?" he cried out, full of desperation as he struggled to pull himself up. He was far too scared to glance below him. One foot found purchase on the platform and he wedged it through the iron bars. His body was shaking, his right hand was crying out in pain and the Port-all was a wretched weight around his neck. For a second or two, he considered dropping it down the shaft. But that would have meant letting go with one hand - a ridiculous notion. Adam took a deep breath. Keep the bag, then. Which meant that the next step wasn't going to be easy.

Heaving with all of his might, he pushed upwards, inch by dreadful, gasping inch, until his stomach rested safely on the handrail. Adam teetered back and forth, and back... and forth, but oh! too far...

He felt himself falling in slow motion.

With a thump and a heartfelt groan, he landed on the walkway in a hopeless jumble of arms and legs.

_Too many bad landings._

No time to pause and catch his breath, however. Rolling to his knees, he took in the scene around him, all the while searching, searching for his boss. The worst thought of all, he would not entertain.

Mac couldn't be... He couldn't have...

"Boss man's indestructible," Adam said grimly.

As he began to rise, the walkway moaned and shifted slightly. The force of the blast must have weakened the massive bolts that pinned it to the concrete wall.

"Oh, that can't be good," he whispered.

The doorway itself was a doorway no longer. Rubble had turned it into a wall. Could Mac be on the other side, with Danny?

Was Adam all alone again?

And then he saw it. A crumpled body, halfway down the next set of stairs. Not blasted over the edge, then. Not moving, either...

Shuffling carefully over to the steps, he began to edge downwards, staying low and clenching his teeth against the rising panic - his old, familiar foe. The walkway stirred again with an ominous creak. "Hush!" Adam told it softly, freezing for a moment. "Just let me get there, okay? I have to see..."

His sentence lingered in the air, unfinished.

Mac groaned below him.

**-x0x-**

On the other side of an overwhelming mass of rubble, Danny opened his eyes. 

_What the...?_

Pain thudded into his skull like a jack-hammer, over and over again. He lifted a wobbly hand - and found that he was lying on his back. Fear took him, briefly, and he reeled in its violent grasp, until a low voice dragged him back to his senses.

"Help," it whimpered.

Jane?

Swallowing hard, he closed his mind to the driving pain in his skull and pushed himself into a sitting position. Full of disbelief, he stared at his new surroundings. The scene appalled him.

Running just above his head, the strip of light was blue no longer. Now it pulsed an angry red. That, in itself, was alarming.

Far worse, however, was the ugly mess that blocked his way. Dust filled the air as he glared at the barrier of twisted steel and ruined walls. Part of the ceiling had fallen down as well - was _still_ falling, in fact - leaving a nasty hole, full of blasted airducts, and cables that sparked as they swung to and fro.

Beyond, and utterly lost, was the door.

Behind him...

Danny turned and peered through the sinking dust, counting figures with growing dismay. One... two... three.

And no more.

"Help!" The frightened voice spoke again. And now he could see that it was, indeed, Jane. She knelt beside the motionless body of her friend, one hand on Maya's chest, as she locked eyes with Danny in a desperate attempt to strengthen her plea. Behind them, Anna Adachi was rising from the floor. To Danny's great relief, she, too, seemed to be unhurt, apart from an oozing cut on her forehead, made even more ghastly by the crimson glow.

With an effort, Danny clambered to his feet. The pain in his head didn't like that at all but he muttered a few choice words and that made him feel much better. Jane's eyes grew wide.

"Oh - sorry," he told her. "I'm comin', okay? You seen Mac or Adam? The guys that were with me?"

Mutely, she shook her head.

As he started to weave in her direction, something caught his eye on the floor near his feet. It winked and blinked in the pulsing light, blood red like a ruby.

Except that it wasn't a ruby. It was a diamond. A whole set of diamonds, in fact; shaped like a butterfly. And there - was that a shoe?

A lone shoe, far too near the rubble.

"Mother?" Anna called out, shuffling closer, one hand on the wall for support. Her voice was shaky, but hopeful.

Danny's heart sank.


	15. Chapter 15

_**"The first rule of an expedition is that everyone should stick together."  
** _ _**(Tahir Shah)** _

Outside, there was chaos.

Halfway up the tower, a full row of shutters had buckled. Billowing clouds of dust spun out through the cracks as the aftershock worked its way downwards, rocking the ground beneath Angell's feet, like the passing of a subway train, or a tiny earthquake. Seconds later, it had gone - but the fear remained.

Suddenly, thankfully, Don was by her side.

"What was that?" she gasped. Around them, people were screaming and running blindly in all directions.

"A complication," Don said grimly. Together, they stared upwards.

Already, the dust was thinning out into the air around the building. Soon it would vanish altogether. Only the twisted shutters remained; the sole clues to the violent force of the explosion that had rocked Thorne's secret world.

"Do you think...?" Jess faltered. Glancing at Don's face, she knew there was no need to finish the sentence. Why give voice to the dread that they both shared? Better to lock it down and deal with it later, when the facts were truly known.

"Of course, you get what this means," Don continued with a tone of deep resignation.

Unable to follow his train of thought, she shook her head.

"Explosion. In a tower block. In New York City? Fifteen minutes tops before we have some _very_ official company."

"Three letter guys," Jess said, in sudden understanding. "FBI?"

"Try NSA. Or both." He sighed. "It's gonna get crowded down here, real soon. And you know what they say about too many cooks..."

"They spoil the broth," she finished, peering back up at the brooding tower with a sense of doom.

**-x0x-**

The strip of light inside the shaft was badly damaged. Adam squinted through the gloom, which now had a strange red tint instead of a strange blue one, filtering from the unaffected levels above and below them. He tried to make out the details of Mac's face, but it was tricky.

"Boss? Hey, Mac?"

 _I need more light,_ he decided.

Fishing in his pocket, he found to his dismay (but not his surprise) that the phone was no longer there. "Smashed into a thousand pieces," he guessed in a sorrowful voice. He loved that phone.

Still, could have been worse.

 _Could have been me._ Or Mac...

With shaking fingers, he reached out and felt the detective's forehead, trying to make at least a rudimentary diagnosis. Mac gave another low groan, but Adam could tell that he was still unconscious - trapped, no doubt, in a troubled, dreamlike state. Even so, the noise was a comfort. Mac wasn't dead. And 'not dead' meant that there was hope.

It also meant that Adam wasn't alone.

As he checked Mac's condition, ignoring his own throbbing hand, he kept up a garbled running commentary, mostly for his own reassurance.

"Sorry, Mac - I have to do this, okay? I know it's not the most appropriate way to treat your boss... Feels kinda weird, in fact. Oh! Not your face, though," he added hastily. "I didn't mean that. Just... let me know if you want me to stop, or it tickles, or I'm hurting you. Please, Mac? Say something? I'd really love to hear your voice right now, because my own is kinda shaky and I'll tell you a secret - yours always makes me feel safer..."

He trailed off into an awkward silence. Only the task at hand kept him from falling into a state of utter panic. Swallowing hard, he continued to study his boss, one careful inch at a time, feeling for lumps and bumps, and deeper signs of trauma.

The skin beneath his fingertips was clammy and cold. A sticky residue confirmed his first suspicion. The darkest shadow on Mac's face was a wound, and it was bleeding.

Not good.

Adam's first thought was to tear a strip from his shirt and create a makeshift bandage. In the movies, they always did that with such flair. But this wasn't the movies. "And I'm not Bruce Willis," he sighed. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

"Wha...?" said a tired voice.

Sitting back on his heels, Adam could have laughed out loud, he was so relieved. "Mac!" he gasped. "Are you okay?"

"Wha...?" Mac's voice was stronger this time, but just as uncertain. A new fear wormed its way into Adam's head.

"You... you do know where you are, right, boss?"

"Adam..."

Close enough. "Yes, it's Adam."

"Danny...?"

 _Oh, crap._ "Well, I... I don't know, boss. I'm sorry. He was on the other side of the door. You remember the door, right?"

Mac fell silent. When he spoke again, the word was heartfelt. "Vividly."

"Good. That's good. Um... boss, I'm trying to work out just how badly you've been injured. Any chance you could give me a little heads-up? Can you move all your fingers and toes?" _Please tell me you can,_ he begged silently. Keeping the panic at bay was becoming a dreadful strain.

Shifting wearily, Mac ran through a simple body check, flexing all of his limbs, one at a time. Adam watched him through the gloom. He held his breath as he waited.

"My head hurts," Mac said at last. "That's all."

"I know. I felt the blood. I was going to make you a bandage," Adam said, far too brightly. "Care to help?"

Mac opened his eyes with an effort.

"It's dark," he said. "How did you find me?"

"Oh - the red light. Creepy, isn't it?" Peering upwards, Adam winced. "You think that means the safety protocols are off now...?" It wasn't a pleasant thought. "Red for danger, right?"

"Red...?" Mac said uncertainly.

Adam had never heard his boss sound quite so bewildered. He stiffened and his throat grew tight. No way to force the words out. But he knew.

Mac couldn't see the light.

He couldn't see...

**-x0x-**

_Choices,_ Danny thought. It all came down to choices now. None of them good, and all of them serious. Anna was upright and walking. Maya was on the floor.

He made his decision.

Perhaps it was the cowardly thing to do. Anna needed to know what he had found. And yet...

And yet, first rule of triage. It's always the quiet ones that you have to watch.

Avoiding Grace's stumbling daughter, he crouched down next to Jane and gave her a reassuring smile. Well, more of a grimace - but the intention was good. Then he looked at Maya. To his surprise, her eyes were open, and as sharp as they had been since the moment he met her.

"You okay?" he asked, before he could stop himself. Stupid question. _Why do people always say that?_ asked the cynical part of his brain that liked to add a running commentary to his actions.

"No," she grumbled. Her voice was choked and breathless. Dust coated her face. "I feel like... I've been hit... by a ton of bricks. What happened?"

"Well - you _were_ hit by a ton of bricks," he offered, trying to keep things light. Beside him, Jane was trembling, although she twitched a little in response to his attempt at humour. "In a manner of speaking. Some kind of blast. I don't know what caused it. Guess we triggered it somehow, along the way."

"A blast." She shuddered. "What about... the others?"

"Don't know." Danny kept his answer brief, sharing a meaningful glance with Jane. She nodded. His gaze travelled down her arm, to the hand that was pressing on Maya's chest.

Blood seeped between her fingers.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she said carefully. "Just a shallow wound. It should stop bleeding in a moment or two."

"Besides, my leg hurts worse," Maya sighed.

Danny looked - and winced.

"No kidding," he told her.

The state of Maya's injuries presented a whole new problem. Pulling out his phone, he checked the signal.

"Nothing. Dammit!" Resisting the urge to fling the useless thing against the nearest wall, he clenched his jaw and tried to come up with a plan that didn't involve leaving anyone else behind. He did not dare to wonder what had become of Mac and Adam. Jane watched him shrewdly from beneath her long fringe. "This game is over," he said at last.

"I agree," she nodded. He turned to her in surprise. "I'll stay here with Maya. You need to go and get help. Find..."

"...the elevator," he finished. His plan exactly. Take the safest route back to the lobby and smash his way out of this crazy place if he had to.

"Be careful," Maya whispered. Her face beneath the dust was paler, and her eyes were tight with pain. Jane gave her friend a wobbly smile.

"He will. And he'll be quick. Won't you?" Watching Danny rise to his feet, she waited for his reply. But it never came.

His eyes were fixed on Anna, who had sunk to her knees, her mouth wide open in a soundless wail.

Afraid of intruding, nevertheless he walked forwards and bent down beside her, wrapping a tentative arm around her shoulder.

They lingered there in silence. Was Grace truly dead? Clearly, Anna thought so. After all, the explosion had been so sudden, and her mother had been standing right there in the corridor with them - he had ushered her out of the shaft himself. Danny had no way of knowing how far the rubble stretched, but any other fate seemed unlikely.

Watching Anna grieve for her mother, he blocked his mind yet again to the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

Mac and Adam had been in the shaft, not the corridor.

 _They're alive,_ he told himself grimly, using the thought as a shield.

They had to be.


	16. Chapter 16

_**"Never try to solve all the problems at once - make them line up for you one-by-one."  
** _ _**(Richard Sloma)** _

"Thank you so much for coming on such short notice, Mr. Mori," Lindsay said earnestly.

The gentleman who stood in front of her, hugging a bulky briefcase, was certainly not what she had expected.

"Find someone that can open that thing in a hurry," Stella had told her. "Otherwise, I'm afraid we're going to have to resort to violence. I tell you, Lindsay, I'm this close to smashing it with a hammer right now." Her tone had been laced with regret as she held her thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart.

The thought of such a beautiful item having to be destroyed made neither woman happy, in spite of the circumstances - so Lindsay used her initiative and, after half an hour of trawling through internet search engines, found a local expert in Himitsu-Bako, or Japanese puzzle boxes. Hiraku Mori, author, collector and craftsman. There was no personal picture on his website - just image after image of the most enchanting wooden boxes. No telephone number either, but Mori's reply to her urgent email had been prompt and courteous. In her head, Lindsay had imagined a genial, white-haired old man with bright eyes and a pair of little round glasses.

So much for stereotypes.

"No worries," said the youthful Mr. Mori in a laid-back, West coast accent. His angular face was handsome, and his long black hair was slicked back neatly in a ponytail, caught up in a silver clasp. He wore a dark blue shirt, untucked, and a pair of stylish, faded jeans. In fact, 'stylish' was the word that best described him; a lean and well-presented man whose confident manner was strong, but not overwhelming. He smiled, and Lindsay found herself smiling back. "I love a challenge," he continued. "Besides, it's not every day you get invited to a gig like this." As he stared at the maze of glass panels and their enigmatic contents, his smile became dazzling - the eager look of a child in a sweetshop.

"You solve our problem," Lindsay told him, "and I'll give you a tour myself."

Mori nodded. "I'd shake your hand," he said with a charming shrug, "but..." He shifted the briefcase, which looked extremely heavy.

Lindsay took the hint. "Let me find you somewhere to put that down. And then I'll show you the box, if I may?" Something about the man brought out her most polished manners.

Flirting, Danny would have called it, feigning jealousy. In her head, she could hear him laughing.

_Danny..._

"This way," she added quickly, pushing the thought to one side.

Abandoning the briefcase on her desk, the two of them made their way to the Trace lab. As soon as they walked through the door and he saw Stella fiddling with the box, Hiraku Mori gave a loud and delightful laugh that made both women jump.

"It seems that I carried my books all this way for no reason," he said. "I know this particular treasure very well."

"You do?" Lindsay stared at him in astonishment.

"Of course. It used to be mine. I sold it last year at an online auction. Cash-flow crisis," he admitted, by way of an explanation.

Moving forwards, he reached for the puzzle box but Stella held out a hand to stop him, followed by a pair of gloves. He sighed, and took them, sliding them on as quickly as he could in his eagerness to hold the artefact once more. "I missed it when it was gone," he explained with a slight air of embarrassment. "Where on earth did you find it?"

"Who bought it?" Stella asked, countering his question with one of her own.

Mori nodded. Clearly, he understood the game. Information was the goal, but his access was restricted.

"I'm afraid I don't know. The bid was large, but the bidder was secretive. No name, and only a Post Office box. I can dig out the details of that, if you like, as soon as I get back home."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you." Lindsay watched him as he picked up the puzzle box at last and turned it lovingly in his hands. Somehow, it seemed to belong there.

"Are you sure the gloves are necessary?" he asked wistfully, stroking the surface.

"Sadly, yes," Stella told him. "I take it you know how to open it, then?"

"Of course." Mori's voice was calm by now; almost hypnotic. Slowly, his fingers moved around to the side of the box. _Flick -_ and a thin panel slid to the right. "Seven sun," he chanted. "Ten steps."

"Sun?" Lindsay moved forwards, drawn by the elegant dance of his hands and the turning box.

"It's a unit of measurement. Each sun is approximately 1.2 inches. Seven sun is large for a puzzle box. This one is old, and very rare. Who worked out the first move?" he asked them suddenly. At the same time, another finger twitched and another panel shifted. Still the box spun - yet Mori's eyes were on the women and their thrilled reaction.

Stella glanced at Lindsay, who blushed. "I did," she grinned. "But really, it was an accident."

"Then you're a natural." _Flick. Twitch..._ Already, they could see that the whole thing was starting to come apart. Lindsay counted under her breath. Seven moves. Eight, nine...

Last of all was the lid. With a flourish, Mori drew it away from the rest of the box - and the three of them peered inside. Stella gave a cry of triumph.

"I knew it!" she said.

The hidden object was a notebook.

**-x0x-**

Mac could hear the catch in Adam's breath, followed by silence. That, in itself, was disturbing. In his mind, he could see the look of fear on the lab tech's face, as vivid as it would be in reality.

Truth be told, he felt it too, like a knife wound, deep and cold. But he couldn't let Adam know that.

His eyes were aching with the strain of trying to pierce the blackness that engulfed him. Were they truly damaged or was his brain merely playing tricks on him?

Was it temporary, or...?

Mac could hardly bear to think of the alternative. He frowned, which sent a sharp pain crashing through his head. A wave of sickness washed him in an icy sheen of sweat. He clenched his teeth and fought it, letting it sink through his body until it drained away, leaving him shaking.

"Help me up," he said, as soon as he could speak again.

"Wha...?" Now it was Adam who sounded vague.

"Adam. We're not safe here. Please, help me up."

He could have managed by himself, of course, but the task just might bring Adam back to his senses.

At least, he hoped so.

Moments later, he felt the fluttering of hands upon him; tentative at first yet, in the end, surprisingly strong. "Sorry, boss..." Adam whispered as he levered him into a sitting position. The headrush that followed was almost unbearable. A groan escaped his lips before he could call it back.

"Mac," Adam's voice continued, close to his ear. "You're bleeding, okay? I need to bandage your head."

"With what?" he gasped. "A strip from your shirt?"

The snort of laughter that followed his remark was unexpected, and encouraging.

"I know," Adam said. "I already thought of that. Unless you've got a first aid kit stashed away in that tux of yours, boss? Go on - surprise me..."

"No I haven't." Mac gave a weak smile. "But do you still have Arabella's bag? Is there something in there we could use? Apart from chewing gum, that is... I don't fancy _that_ plastered on my forehead. No offence."

"None taken." Some of Adam's usual warmth was slowly filtering back, although his voice remained subdued.

A rattle and several thumps meant that he had begun to rifle through the contents of the Port-all, dropping them onto the walkway, which shuddered with every new movement. Mac didn't have to see to know exactly what that meant. If they didn't get out of this shaft soon, they were doomed.

 _One thing at a time,_ he told himself firmly. Why try to run before he could walk? Or stand...

The very thought of rising to his feet made him nauseous again. He swallowed it down with an effort and waited for Adam to play 'doctor'.

"Any luck?" he asked, in a voice that throbbed with impatience. Holding back his pain and fear took so much strength of will that there was little of it left to rein in his other emotions. He only hoped that Adam would understand.

"Strangely, yes. A really big embroidered handkerchief. I think it's fairly clean..."

"You're grinning at me, aren't you?" Mac demanded.

"No, boss!" Adam's denial was far too quick, and soon he relented. "Well, maybe a little... There's also a bottle of water."

"Don't use all of that. We might be glad of it later."

"I won't - I promise. Just a dab. Okay, boss; ready? This'll sting..."

Mac sat through Adam's careful ministrations, trying to divert his brain by coming up with some kind of plan. It wasn't easy. He clenched his fists against the rising tide of frustration. How was he supposed to work out what to do next, when he couldn't even see what lay before him?

Finally, as Adam tied the last knot in Arabella's voluminous handkerchief, Mac laid a hand on his arm.

"We need to find Danny," he said.

Once more, he felt it - the overwhelming silence.

Mac quailed. "How bad?" he insisted. "Adam! Tell me exactly what happened. What can you see?" 

For a moment, it seemed as though Adam could not bring himself to answer. At last, in a faltering voice, he began to tell the story of how it had been. The explosion, and his trip through the air. Clinging onto the rail by his fingertips - Mac shuddered at the thought. The rubble that blocked the door, and the dreadful silence all around them, broken only by the creaking of the walkway...

"Adam," Mac said again, when he had finished. "Danny's alive. I firmly believe that."

"You do?" The voice beside him was small, but now Mac could hear the tiny spark of hope beneath the fear.

 _Hold onto me Adam,_ he thought. _We'll lead each other through this._

"I do. And trust me, we'll get out of here. You'll just have to be my eyes until they get better."

 _Until._ Once more, a hopeful word. Did he mean it? Or was he simply saying it out loud to try and convince himself that it was true?

Did it matter?

Yes - because hope was the only thing that they could cling to. "This door's blocked, you say," Mac continued. "Then we'll try the next one, and the next one, until we find a way out of the shaft. Up or down?"

"What...?"

"Up or down. You choose." _Keep thinking,_ Mac urged him silently. _Please_ _, Adam...._

"Down," came the sudden reply. "Because that's what Danny would do. _Will_ do. He'll try to get out of here and fetch help. No more stupid games."

"Down it is," Mac agreed. "I think you're right."


	17. Chapter 17

_**"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them."  
** _ _**(Ernest Hemingway)** _

**-x0x-**

Sheldon watched through the glass as Hiraku Mori opened the puzzle box. He could tell by the look on Stella's face that she was fascinated. He couldn't pretend to fully understand her obsession with the object, out of all the evidence they had collected, but he suspected that it had something to do with distraction. Distraction from the worrying events in Thorne Tower, and the fact that three of her friends and colleagues were in there.

 _His_ friends and colleagues.

Sheldon shook his head. Stella wanted to be there at the scene, as did Lindsay. As did he... But Flack had it covered, and all they could do was investigate the circumstances surrounding Nash's death - a tentative connection if ever there was one.

He turned away from Stella and peered back into the microscope. Evidence of recent sexual activity - confirmed. But with whom? And was it relevant?

A DNA search was his next step. They could only hope that the mysterious partner was on record somewhere in one of the giant databases to which the crime lab had access. If the person was squeaky clean or off the grid, the search could be fruitless.

_Too little time._

Peering back through the window, Sheldon noticed Sid Hammerback in the corridor beyond. He was standing, frozen, clutching a file to his chest and staring at Hiraku Mori with the most enlightened look upon his face.

Now what was _that_ about?

**-x0x-**

Don Flack had made an art form out of his 'I told you so' expression. Watching the dark-suited stranger approach them, he flashed a fine example in his partner's direction. Jess stifled a laugh and prepared herself for the battle that was to come: sarcasm and fair play taking on 'The Man'.

To begin with, Don kept his nerve. "Detective Flack," he said, extending his hand. The anonymous agent took it.

Jess stared at the dark blue jacket with 'FBI' written on it in large yellow letters.

"Agent Rowd," was the equally short response. Don looked pained, as the stocky agent squeezed his fingers tightly. "Sorry I'm late to this party."

"The party's upstairs," Don said. His tone was far from genial. "This is the fallout."

"So I see," Rowd murmured, staring at the swollen crowd. "Your perimeter is a mess, Detective. It should be much farther back. My guys will handle that from now on."

Don flushed angrily. Jess burned with shame for him. The last thing he needed right now was some government flunky muscling in and lecturing him on how to do his job.

Overhead, the sky was slowly filtering from smoky grey to charcoal. Yet the darkest stain of all rose high above them. Rowd stared upwards.

"Tell me what you have so far," he said.

"Why? So you can take over? I've got people in there," Don scowled. "Friends and co-workers."

"Exactly why I _should_ take over." Rowd's generic features moulded themselves into a conciliatory expression. He ran a hand through his sandy hair as he stared at Flack. "Look, Detective. I feel your pain. But this is bigger than your personal score, okay? An armour-plated building in the centre of Manhattan? An explosion, for Pete's sake?"

Such carefully chosen words. Such restraint. Either this guy was a boy-scout, or he was tightly wound and that was never a good thing.

Watching Don glare at Agent Rowd, Jess knew his hands were tied. Diplomacy was his only hope of maintaining any involvement in this investigation. With that in mind, he forced his features into a pleasant mask.

"So, what's the plan?" he said.

"To get inside, of course," Rowd told him. "Any headway?"

At this point, Jess stepped forward, offering Don her support. "We have blueprints coming," she offered. "And we're trying to contact the architect - although it's hard. She seems to have disappeared entirely."

"How about the guys who built this monstrosity?" Rowd suggested.

"Already on it," Jess replied. "The foreman is here and waiting to be questioned."

"We were just about to do that when you arrived." On the surface, Don's comment was helpful but there was an edge of sarcasm to his delivery. Jess gave a silent groan. _Stay calm,_ she urged him, wishing she had the power to project her thoughts.

"Take me to him," Rowd said, and Jess knew from the cold look in his pale blue eyes that they could not refuse.

**-x0x-**

"I'm coming with you," Anna said.

Danny folded his arms and stared at her dubiously. His head was still pounding but he ignored it. "Wouldn't you rather stay here?" he asked.

"What for?" Her voice was brittle. A worrying sign.

"It's safer," he said, regretting the word as soon as it left his mouth.

"Oh, really? I think my mother would disagree."

Danny flushed and bit his lip, controlling his natural urge to make some kind of quick retort. This new façade of Anna's was a disturbing one. How could he think of relying on her? Even the smoothest mask was bound to crack under the right amount of pressure. Getting out of the tower was going to be a struggle. The last thing he needed was an unpredictable partner by his side.

"You don't trust me," she accused him.

"I'm worried about you," he replied, not quite answering her question. She noticed, but did not comment. Nor did she respond to his remark. It was a strange kind of conversation - two strands that wove in and out of each other, barely connecting.

"Very well," Anna continued quietly. "Put it this way. You walk down the corridor? I follow you. You turn left? I do the same. You take the elevator? I'll be right beside you. Ignore me or talk to me - I don't care. I'm coming with you."

"I guess you are," he sighed. With a shrug, he held out his hand. "Then we'd better be properly introduced. Danny Messer. _Detective_. At your service."

Her eyebrows shot up slightly at this disclosure. Exactly the response that he had hoped for. An assertion of his right to lead. Not a subtle one, either, but necessary, given the circumstances.

"Anna Adachi," she said, her long fingers reaching out in turn. "As you know." She offered no other revelation about herself.

 _Duly noted,_ Danny thought.

Taking off his jacket, he emptied the pockets and then held it out to Jane, who was still kneeling down beside her injured friend. Thankfully, the wound on Maya's chest had indeed stopped bleeding. Red cloth was stained with deeper red, but Jane had spoken the truth after all - it was shallow. Maya's left leg was a different matter. Danny could barely look at it without swallowing hard against the bile that rose in his throat. Mangled limbs. Not a fan.

"Keep her warm," he told Jane kindly, hiding his oddly squeamish reaction behind a shaky smile that somehow made it all the way to his eyes.

"I will." She took the jacket and laid it carefully over her friend's upper body. "I... I shouldn't try to move her, right?"

"That's right. Just talk to her and keep her awake if you can. Which means no counting sheep." Danny chuckled softly and Jane gave a wan smile in return. "I'll be back soon, with help." He felt, rather than saw the presence at his shoulder. "We. I mean, we'll be back, okay?"

"Thank you," Jane said fervently. "Good luck."

 _Yeah,_ he grumbled deep inside, where no one else could hear him. _Something tells me I'm gonna need it._

**-x0x-**

"Are you ready?"

Adam's query was a challenge. Grimly, Mac nodded. "Where's the rail?" he asked.

Taking his hand, Adam guided it onto one of the metal struts. He grasped it firmly, liking its smoothness against his palm but hating the creak that followed as he tried to pull himself up.

"Oh...!" Adam's cry was short and he followed it with an apology. "Sorry, boss."

"Why? It startled me too."

"Okay, but..."

"Where exactly is the walkway unstable?" Mac interrupted.

There was a pause, during which he used his other hand to find a second strut. Slowly, he inched upwards, sliding each palm against the metal pole and curling his fingers around it - loose, then tight. Change hands. Loose, then tight. In this awkward way, he made it safely to his feet. His head was swimming but the rail was there to support him. And suddenly, behind him, so was Adam. One arm crept around his back, below his shoulder blades. He could even feel a warm and hesitant breath against his cheek as Adam turned to speak to him.

Mac's imagination placed an image of the lab tech's worried face in front of the dizzying blackness.

"Both sides of the door; two levels above and one below. That's not good, is it?"

"Could be worse," Mac said simply. "Could be the other way round. We're going down, remember? Good choice, Adam."

"Oh. Thank you..."

Gradually, his equilibrium adjusted to this new position. His gut stopped churning and the pounding in his ears became a gentle thump as his pulse settled down. His eyes still ached in a manner that frightened him, but that was something to explore when they were safely out of the shaft.

Safely...

 _Everything's relative,_ Mac thought, as he stood taller and clenched his jaw.

Adam seemed to sense the change and moved his arm away, taking hold of Mac's elbow instead. It was clear that he was trying to find the awkward middle ground between helping and letting Mac keep his independence.

"Don't disappear," Mac told him; a subtle reassurance that his instinct was the right one.

"Wasn't planning on it." Adam's voice was heartfelt. Beneath their feet, the metal stairway gave another creak, and moved an inch to the left. Mac shuddered.

"Go," he said. No more stalling. He could feel the yawning pit below them, like an open mouth. If they lingered too long...

"Right foot down," Adam said, and Mac obeyed. "Now your left foot..."

Every shuffling step was a strange and terrifying nightmare. Lost in the dark, on a broken ledge. He felt as though he were teetering on the brink of hell itself - and his only hope was Adam.

The hand that held his elbow was still shaking. Adam's right hand...

"What about you?" Mac said, feeling a sudden rush of guilt that he hadn't asked. "Are you hurt?"

A short laugh. "Bruises," the lab tech said ruefully. "Lots of bruises."

"Nothing more?"

 _I don't want to talk about it,_ said the tone of Adam's voice as he offered the usual lie. "Oh no, I'm fine... Mac, we need to keep going, okay? Left foot down... and that's the next platform in three more steps."

Evasion. Mac was familiar with the tactic. Still, Adam did have a point. Now was not the time for conversation.

Right foot...

Left foot...

Mac coughed, as something unexpected caught at the back of his throat. An acrid tang to the air. "What's that?" he demanded.

"What's what?" Adam sounded puzzled - until he drew in a sharp breath that left him spluttering too. "Oh... Oh! That's bad! Erm... boss, now we really have to hurry. And, ah, try to cover your nose and mouth, okay?"

"Describe it, Adam," Mac said grimly, raising the front of his jacket across the lower half of his face.

"There's a cloud of... well, something," Adam told him, sounding equally muffled. "Coming slowly up the shaft and heading straight towards us. Boss, it really stinks..."

"You don't have to tell me that part." Mac pulled a hidden face. "Where's the door?"

Adam's arm snaked back around him, guiding him downwards until his feet hit the next platform. "Here."

"Will it open?"

SIlence - followed by the angry sound of a rubber sole kicking metal.

"No," Adam said in despair. "It won't."


	18. Chapter 18

_**"Hope is a verb with its sleeves rolled up."  
** _ _**(David Orr)** _

**-x0x-**

The notebook was beautiful. Mori looked on with the gleaming eye of an artisan, as Stella lifted it carefully from the puzzle box. "Expensive," he said.

The book itself was covered in a deep blue satin-like material, stiffened and stretched onto card. A smooth cord bound it, also midnight blue, fastened with a complex knot that was highly decorative. Two polished beads added weight to the dangling tails. The pages of the book, Stella noted, were off-white and gave off a scent that was musty and ancient.

"Delicate, too," Lindsay added. "Better be careful. Looks like a lot of those pages are loose. You can see the edges sticking out."

"No." Stella set it down on the table with a steady hand. She, too, was wary of its condition. "I think the loose pages are extra sheets. The colour is different - white, not ivory. Modern paper, not antique."

"I love the smell of old paper," Mori sighed with appreciation. As he watched, his hands were carefully putting the puzzle box back together. Stella wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing - and whether or not she should stop him. In the end, she left him to it. The box had served its purpose. The book was their focus now.

"That's some knot," Lindsay commented.

"Mm." Stella followed its twisting curves with a delicate finger. "You know, for a man who liked his rooms clean and simple, Rudy Nash seemed to have an even deeper obsession with complex things."

"Rudy Nash?" Mori sounded interested.

"That's the name of the guy who owned the box. Why? You know him?"

Mori shook his head, but his eyes were frowning. "Seen the name. He's been doing a lot of research into Japanese design and history." Sensing their unspoken interest, he continued. "I do most of my networking online, okay? Your man popped up on the scene about a year ago. Made quite a splash with a paper on netsuke. That's..."

"The little sculpted toggles? Yes, I've seen them in the museum," Lindsay said. "They're really amazing. So detailed and so tiny."

"Nash seems - or should I say, seemed? - to have a love of the intricate. As you say." He turned to Stella. "Puzzle boxes. Netsuke. Saya - that's a 'key' pattern, often used in Japanese design."

"Like a twisting maze. I know." Stella nodded. "Key patterns exist in many cultures - including Greek. My own," she said proudly.

"Indeed." Mori favoured her with a charming smile. "Then you understand what I'm talking about."

"I do." Stella lifted her finger from the knot with regret and reached for a pair of scissors. "Unless you know how to untie this as well?" she asked.

Laughing, Mori laid down the puzzle box, which was smooth and secretive once more. "Not this time. Sorry." He folded his arms and regarded the book. "This is evidence in your case. Do you need me to leave?"

"Not at all. You've been very helpful so far. And your knowledge of Rudy Nash is... unexpected." Deftly, Stella cut through the cord and removed the knot intact, placing it out of the way. Then she turned her attention to the front cover. It was plain, and gave no indication as to what might be inside. So why was her heart beating quickly? Something... It had to be something important.

"You know, we're going to look pretty silly if the only thing in there is a bunch of romantic poems," Lindsay observed with a sly look at her colleague.

"Tell me about it," Stella breathed, trying not to sound too eager. She was so sure...

Flipping the cover open, she gazed at the first page in excitement - which quickly turned into a groan.

"What's the matter?" Mori stepped up beside her, full of concern.

"I still don't know what it says," she told him. "It's written in what looks like Japanese."

"Then you were right," he smiled. "You do still need me."

**-x0x-**

Danny's nerves were strained and his senses felt heightened. A tingle ran beneath his skin like an electric shock. Every creak in the walls and every whisper of dust was a stranger stalking them.

Or another ceiling about to drop on their heads.

Beside him, closer than he had expected, Anna walked in silence. Her brooding presence made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. If he was being honest, Danny wasn't really sure how he ought to handle it. Part of him wanted to reach out and take her hand - to carry on being the comfort she had allowed him to be in the instant when she knew she had lost her mother. But the moment had passed. And he didn't know her well enough to find an easy way through this new barrier. If it had been Lindsay, now...

A tiny smile crept onto his lips. The thought of her name and the warmth of her spirit was like a magic spell - and suddenly she was right there with him, matching him stride for stride.

 _You look terrible, Messer,_ she told him, smirking.

_Thanks, Montana. Next time someone drops a building on you, let's see how good you look._

_Never happen. I'm not that unlucky._

"So you say," he challenged her - and turned his words into a hurried, guilty cough as Anna turned and stared at him in surprise.

"I didn't," she murmured.

"You didn't what?" Danny gave a shrug that tried to be nonchalant and failed.

"Say anything. What's the problem?"

"No problem..."

And yet again, the conversation died. This was how it had been ever since they left the other two women. Danny actually found himself starting to miss poor Jane, and the feisty Maya. He hoped that they were safe, in their makeshift camp among the rubble.

"You did the right thing, you know," Anna said with unexpected accuracy. Her dark eyes were narrow and penetrating.

Could she read his thoughts now? Danny flushed. Oh God, he hoped not.

"Hm?"

"You looked over your shoulder, Detective. And your face is full of concern. They'll be safe. It was the right decision."

 _How do you know?_ he thought - but he kept the comment to himself. No point in antagonising her when she was trying to be kind. "I guess... And it's Danny, okay? Back there, I was just..." He paused.

"You were making a point." She halted in the corridor, holding his gaze with her own. There was a haunted look about her face which softened her features and made her look younger, somehow. More vulnerable, too. Was this the real Anna, peering through at last? "And I deserved it. Sorry," she added quietly.

Danny shook his head. "Not necessary."

They moved on. The air felt clearer now. Whether or not that was psychological, he couldn't tell - but he was grateful.

"Where next?" he asked her politely as they reached a turning point in the corridor. "Left or right?"

Together, they studied the alternatives. Matching passageways, receding into distant shadow, filled with blank and mysterious doorways. Neither direction appealed to them. Their only other alternative was an open door ahead - unusual, and therefore a little suspicious, Danny thought. Still, he couldn't resist poking his head through and staring round the empty space.

"What is it?" Anna said.

"Hard to say. A conference room, maybe? It's not furnished, and there are heavy metal shutters on all the windows, just like the ones upstairs, so... wait!" He stepped across the threshold, peering through the gloom with growing excitement.

"What? Come _on_!" she insisted, following close on his heels nonetheless. He halted, and she narrowly avoided crashing into him.

"Look," he said. Anna's dark gaze followed his eager, outstretched finger.

A chink of light. And there - another. And another... Not red, but natural - and now he caught the cool scent of a New York evening, cutting through the captive odour of stale, recycled air and brand new carpets.

Glass cracked underfoot, the few shards that had fallen inwards, as Danny hurried over to the window, pressing his face to the gap and breathing in the welcome air. "Oh! That's good," he grinned.

"What - the smell of the city?" Anna's lips were curling upwards too. "Exhaust fumes? Pigeon droppings? Hot dogs...?" She bent down to join him, sucking greedily through the tiny hole. "You're right. It's wonderful."

He stood up and gazed around the room once more, taking in the open door, the mangled shutters, the broken windows and the chinks of light. "I think the blast found some kind of release through here," he said thoughtfully. "That must have been pretty impressive from the outside, don't you think?"

She regarded him with a solemn expression. "You mean there might be people out there who know we're in trouble?"

"Could be. That noise earlier - you know the one? Like Armageddon, only louder. What if that was a wall of shutters coming down over the building? Not just at the top, but everywhere?"

"You're right," she nodded. "That's what it sounded like."

"Then think what it must have looked like. People are out there alright." An encouraging thought. Best case scenario? Don Flack, a team of cops and a battering ram...

He lingered for a moment on that image, smiling ever so slightly. Then he glanced across the room, and his smile grew wider. Anna followed his gaze.

"Look," he told her, pointing to the sign that said 'Elevator This Way'.

Could they really be that lucky?

**-x0x-**

Adam gave the door a few more kicks for good measure, praying that somehow, magically, it would fly open and they would be saved. Deep inside, he clung to hope, but it had almost left him. They were trapped, and there was nowhere to go. Stay here or stumble upwards - either way, it was only a matter of time before the cloud overwhelmed them. He felt useless, and terribly afraid. What good was he to Mac if he couldn't even open a door?

All around him, the smell in the shaft grew stronger and more uncomfortable by the second, even through the cloth that covered his mouth and nose. Death by choking, then. Or some kind of poisonous gas? Not high up on his personal top ten of preferable ways to meet his Maker. He coughed once and found, to his horror, that he couldn't stop. The cough became a splutter. Panic fuelled the splutter and turned it into a full scale fight for breath. Stifled by his jacket, he dropped it away from his face as he tried to drag some air back into his lungs before it became far too tainted to help him.

Without any warning, a hand reached out and found his arm. It broke the cycle of his fear, and slowly the coughing ceased. A secret look of shame stole across his face. _Well done, Adam,_ he thought. _You coward..._ Here was poor Mac -stuck in the dark, feeling dreadful - and _he_ was the one who had lost control.

"Sorry, boss," he muttered hoarsely.

"Don't apologise." Mac's voice was weary but kind. "Just take off your shoelace."

"W-what?"

Mac's hand left his arm and landed squarely on the door. _Good guess,_ said the tiny part of Adam's brain that wasn't bewildered.

He watched the urgent fingers as they began to explore...

"Adam. Have you done it?" Mac said urgently, stifling a sharp cough of his own.

Shoelace. Right. "On it, boss."

Bending down, he fumbled with the knot and began the awkward process of unpicking the long, white lace. When at last he had it, Adam held it out to Mac - and then realised just what a foolish action _that_ was. "Here you go," he said, as he rose to his feet and tried to press it into Mac's free hand.

Mac shook his head. "Your turn," he said. "How are you at threading needles?"

Adam peered closer and saw that Mac was holding onto a tiny loop of metal. So _that_ was the secret. The way to open the door... Instantly, his quick brain grasped the rest and his hope was rekindled. Cursing the ache in his palm that slowed him down, he started to feed the end of the shoelace through the loop.

The rising cloud crept up through the holes in the walkway. Curling tendrils, stained by the red light, swirled around their feet... their ankles... their knees. An illusion that turned reality upside down and made him feel as though they were sinking.

Dizziness claimed him. Adam swayed.

"I've done it," he told Mac faintly, clenching both ends of the lace in a grip that refused to let go.

"Pull," came the muffled reply. Once again, Mac had covered his nose and mouth; a flimsy shield against the fog that assailed them.

Adam stared in sudden realisation. When had he dropped his own hand? He couldn't quite remember.

 _Too late now,_ he thought. The twinge of regret was far less urgent than it should have been.

With a final burst of effort, Adam heaved on the lace... and the door swung open. He pushed Mac through and toppled after him, landing heavily at his feet. His last clear thought was an urgent one. But his body refused to obey.

_Shut the door..._


	19. Chapter 19

_**"Friendship is a sheltering tree."  
(Samuel Taylor Coleridge)** _

**-x0x-**

Stella left Hiraku Mori and the notebook to Lindsay's care and headed out of the Trace lab in search of Sheldon. Time to see how he was getting on. After that, she really ought to pay a visit to Sid. She thought she had seen him earlier, through the window - but when she looked again, he had disappeared.

Assuming that he had been there in the first place, she thought, with a hesitant laugh. Was her anxious mind playing tricks on her?

As Stella strode along the corridor, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Strange that Flack hadn't called her by now with an update...

She halted in shock.

Four messages, blinking silently on the tiny screen.

Oh God - when had she muted it?

 _'Missed call,'_ her phone said cheerfully. _'Detective Don Flack. Forty minutes ago... Thirty minutes ago... Twenty-five... Twenty...'_

Perhaps it was good news, she told herself firmly. They were out of the building. It was over...

And yet, when she dialled the number, her fingers were shaking.

**-x0x-**

Mac felt the rush of air and heard the thump which meant that Adam had fallen. Not good. Reaching out with desperate hands, he clung to his instinct and his sense of direction, as he sought the door - and found it. One swift tug and it was closed, sealing the noxious cloud on the other side. At once, the air smelled fresher.

He sank to his knees as the weight of his exhaustion pulled him down. There was no sound from Adam.

For one brief moment, Mac allowed despair to wash through him like a tidal wave, dragging at his soul. As it receded, he felt cleaner. Yet the ache in his skull remained; a constant source of fear. Now that they were out of the shaft, he needed to know the truth. How bad was the injury under the handkerchief? And - here he faltered - why couldn't he see?

To answer these questions, of course, he needed help. Which left him with another problem.

"Adam," he said in the calmest voice that he could manage. His throat felt stripped and raw, and his eyes were streaming. "Adam. Can you hear me?"

"Mmmf." The response came from somewhere below him and was followed by a sickly groan. "I feel like death."

"You don't look good," Mac said quietly.

Pause.

"Was that...?" Adam's tone was hesitant, but stronger, just as Mac had hoped. "Boss, did you just make a joke?"

"I am capable of humour, Adam."

"Oh." He coughed, several times. "Yes, I know. You're very funny. It's just that..." As he coughed again, his thoughts seemed to unravel. "Never mind."

A shuffling sound let Mac know that the lab tech was trying to sit up. Reaching out, he offered him assistance, but a hand pushed his own away.

"I'm fine, okay?" Adam insisted. "A bit dizzy, that's all. Are you? Dizzy, I mean? What _was_ that stuff? It nearly had us."

"Poison gas." The very thought of it filled him with anger. If this was part of the building's security system, then Thorne was some kind of madman. Talk about overkill... "Chlorine would be my guess, combined with something else I couldn't quite identify."

"Is that why we smell like a swimming pool?" Adam's response was full of woe.

Mac gave a short laugh that mutated far too quickly into a fit of choking. Instantly, Adam was full of concern; a different person altogether. Firm hands took hold of Mac and set his back against the wall. He stretched out his long legs gracefully and tipped his head back. So heavy. Why did it feel so heavy? His neck could barely support it."

"Boss, I'm going to take a proper look at your wound now, okay?" Adam's voice was hoarse but steady. "The light's much better here. Some kind of emergency overheads - and our old friend, the 'strip', of course. Can't seem to get away from _that_."

Feeling worn out and strangely compliant, Mac nodded. That was a mistake. Pain slammed against the front of his skull. It made him wince.

"Sorry," Adam murmured, pausing in the act of untying his makeshift bandage. "Did I hurt you?"

Mac moved to reassure him, reaching out his hand and placing it over Adam's fingers. They were cold, and still shaking slightly. That disturbed him. "Not at all," he said. "You're doing fine. Keep going..." Every word was a splinter in his throat. He tried to swallow, but it was hard.

"When we finally meet Thorne," Adam said in a deceptively innocent tone, "remind me to thank him for a lovely time."

The swallow turned into a snort.

"There we go," the lab tech continued blithely, lifting the handkerchief away from Mac's head.

Silence followed, and the heavy sound of Adam's breathing. Mac's fear swelled up inside him like a monster.

"Is it bad?" he said at last, unable to bear it any longer.

"Um..."

He knew that Adam was trying to weigh up how much to tell him.

"The truth, Adam, please. I'll known if you're lying."

"You always do," the lab tech sighed. "Not that I would ever... I don't lie to you, boss..." he added hastily. "Okay. There's quite a gash on your forehead - but the good news is that it's stopped bleeding. You'll need stitches when we get out of here. I'm afraid I left my sewing kit at home, and Arabella didn't pack one in her bag." A nervous attempt to make him smile, Mac knew. "Does your head ache?"

No point lying either. "Yes," he admitted, between clenched teeth.

To his credit, Adam moved on. Both men knew the dangers. Why spell out the obvious? "Your eyes look sore," he said tentatively.

And there it was. The subject that both of them had been avoiding.

"I think..." Mac paused. "I'm _hoping_ that the force of the explosion simply bruised the optic nerve. A temporary setback." _Setback._ That was an understatement. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Either that, or the blow to my head may have caused some trauma."

"Makes sense," Adam reassured him. "There's no bruising or obvious signs of damage around the eyes - just a lot of swelling. They're bloodshot, and they're watering, too - but you know that, of course..." His voice tailed off for a moment. When it returned, it was strong once again. "So, what now?" he asked, re-tying the bandage around Mac's head. "Should we stay here, where it's...? Well, I guess I shouldn't use the word 'safe'." He let out one of his trademark giggles. In such a situation, it was hopelessly out of place, as so often happened with Adam, but it was also infectious, and at last he managed to raise a smile on Mac's face. "Or should we... can you... do you think we should move on?"

" _That,_ " Mac said, "is a very good question, Adam."

**-x0x-**

Since he wasn't a government agent (thank goodness) and didn't have access to some fancy mobile unity, a nearby bookshop had become Flack's official command post.

Rowd stepped over the threshold and raised his eyebrows. Flack ignored the look.

"This way," he said, as they passed between the shelves of new releases and 'Back to School' bargains.

The Fantasy and Graphic Novel section had a cosy nook all to itself, surrounded by tall black shelves filled with colourful spines and fascinating covers. Its atmosphere appealed to Flack, and so he had chosen it as the ideal place for interviews. Set in the middle, two red velvet armchairs faced each other. Perched on the very edge of one of them, looking nervous, was a wiry middle-aged man, in a plaid shirt and faded jeans. Short grey hair was plastered against his skull - the side-effect of wearing hard-hats all day long. He crossed his work boots clumsily at the ankles, but the rest of his body was twitching.

"What am I doin' here?" he asked, as Flack came round the corner, followed by Jess and the supercilious Agent Rowd.

"Assisting our enquiries. And we're very grateful Aren't we?" Flack said, turning back to flash a knowing grin at Jess. Rowd received little more than a cursory nod.

Then came the moment of awkwardness, as they reached the single chair. With a swerve of his neatly suited hips, Rowd took it, leaving Flack to stand like an underling by his side. Jess hovered quietly behind them, fuming.

 _Give me strength._ The detective raised his eyes to the nearby bookshelf and the comic book heroes who graced it with their presence. Right now, he could really use Captain America or Spiderman, instead of this arrogant jerk. _Maybe we should just arm-wrestle and be done with it..._

"Name?" Rowd said abruptly, pulling out a little black notebook and a shiny blue pen. Flack wouldn't have been surprised to see the letters 'FBI' printed down the side in gold.

"Lewis Bardon," the foreman told them gruffly. His eyes flicked from one person to the next - no doubt trying to find the good cop among the bad ones. He lingered on Jess, who frowned. Flack gave a smirk.

 _Nice try, buddy._ Folding his arms, he wondered whether the rest of Rowd's technique was as scintillating as his opening move.

"Occupation?"

"Foreman."

So far, the questions were harmless. Bardon allowed himself a tiny smile. Flack watched the play of his features and waited for Rowd to strike out. The foreman might look like Joe Average but there was steel behind his eyes.

Not a pushover, then.

Flack knew the type. Once more, he exchanged a smile with Jess, who seemed to relax.

"Ever met Marcus Thorne?" Rowd asked.

"He pays my wage. He don't invite me to dinner."

Flack gave a nod. Smart answer. Rowd was less than impressed.

"Who was your superior on the project?"

"Missy Yamada. The architect. She managed the whole thing. Fact..." Bardon squared his shoulders, as a new thought occurred to him. "You should be talkin' to her, not me. I don't know nothin'..."

"A double negative," Rowd said calmly. "Means you do. Know something."

"Talk to Missy," Bardon grumbled. "She's my boss."

"Know where she is?" Jess asked him smoothly, over Rowd's head.

"No, ma'am. She don't invite me to dinner, neither."

"What can you tell us about Thorne Tower?" Rowd persisted, glaring at Jess, who smiled back sweetly.

"Lots about steel and concrete. Glass, too. That what you're lookin' for?"

"Did you install the shutters?" Flack asked.

"Made 'em. That's all. Computer runs 'em. Nash is your guy for that. I don't know..."

"Nothin'; yeah, we got that already. How much did Thorne pay you to keep quiet about your work?" Flack asked him out of the blue.

Bardon choked and fell silent. His eyes became shifty.

 _Gotcha._ The detective smiled. Below him, in the velvet chair, Rowd stiffened.

"A payoff? Then you must know something. Man, there are people trapped inside that building."

"And I got a family," Lewis Bardon insisted. "I'm not gonna steal from them. We need that money. I promised Thorne, okay? My word is good."

"Your word's gonna land you in jail if you don't co-operate with us," Flack warned him.

Bardon shook his head. "Steel and concrete. Glass and metal. That's my limit. I can't tell you nothin' else..."

"Then I can't help you," Flack sighed, as Rowd snapped his book shut with a cold gleam in his eye. The agent rose to his feet.

"What's he doin'?" Bardon asked warily.

"Probably gettin' ready to drag you off to Langley and question you for days about bein' a terrorist. After that - I don't know." Flack shrugged. "Maybe Gitmo?"

"What?" The foreman's gruff voice rose to a squeak. "I'm not a terrorist! I love my country."

"Just not its citizens. Who are trapped in that tower. Which has just exploded somewhere deep inside." Flack pushed forward, edging Rowd into the background. Now he was on a roll. The thought of Mac and Danny, and Adam Ross, spurred him on.

Bardon hung his head. For a while, he appeared to consider.

"I'll try," he said at last. "You ask me stuff, okay, and I'll try to answer. Thorne's not a terrorist either. Somethin' must have gone wrong. He wouldn't want innocent people to die - and neither do I. So I'll help you..."

"Thank you. That's all we ask," Flack told him kindly. Inside, he was filled with warm relief. At last. A step in the right direction.

"Detective Flack. A word?" Rowd muttered in his ear. The agent seemed less than happy.

 _Even better,_ Flack grinned to himself.

That was the moment when his phone began to ring in muffled tones from his pocket.


	20. Chapter 20

_**"The best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft agley."  
** _ _**(Robert Burns)** _

**-x0x-**

Pushing through the doorway, Danny found that he was standing in a small lobby, dimly lit by the inevitable red strip, which winked at him in a lazy, knowing fashion, like the long slit of a dragon's eye.

In front of him was the glass-fronted elevator shaft.

Danny allowed himself a small sigh of relief - until he realised that things were not entirely as they seemed.

The glass doors were there. The buttons were there; 'up' and 'down', set neatly in a gleaming panel. 

The cable that winched the little car on its two-way journey hung before their eyes, taut and strong. Below hung the car itself.

Danny stared in dismay. "Okay, that's a problem," Anna said, stepping around him.

The car was frozen; its roof level with her knees. No lights were on. Anna tapped on the glass door - and jumped as, to their horror, they heard a muffled thump in reply. At the same time, someone started yelling.

"Help us! Are you there? Please, help us!"

Anna turned her dark-eyed gaze on Danny. "We have to," she said, and her voice was desperate.

"Agreed." He cast about for something they could use to pry the doors open, but the lobby was as empty as the room behind them. The only object in sight was a fire extinguisher, attached to a nearby wall. Danny frowned - and then grinned.

"Safety first," he said, as he wrenched it from the hood, favouring his good hand, and raised it behind him. "Stand back."

Anna skipped out of the way just in time. He slammed the heavy extinguisher into the panel, once... twice... three times before the door gave a shiver and cracked like a frozen pond in springtime, sending shards and splinters of glass flying into the shaft. Most landed on the roof of the car but some also fell inside.

"Hey! Be careful," said an angry voice. "You're supposed to rescue us, not kill us."

Danny paused.

"That's gratitude," he muttered, winking at Anna. "Good job I'm a nice guy..."

He set the extinguisher down on the floor and peered through the gap into the darkness. The air in the car was stale and smelled of sweat. A pair of eyes stared up at him, as he took off one of his shoes and began to knock the jagged edges of glass from the bottom of the door, taking care not to cut himself or aim them at the people below. However tempting that might be...

"Do you _know_ how long we've been stuck in here?" Harrison Drew demanded, his cultured tone making him instantly recognisable.

"Do I look like the one who's in charge of this nightmare?" Danny replied.

"Can you get us out of here?" The second voice was younger and more uncertain. Harrison's assistant, at a guess. Danny squinted. He could just make out a shadowy outline hovering behind the archaeologist.

"Hope so," he offered, aiming his comment directly over Harrison's shoulder. "Think you can fit through this gap?"

"I'm sure I can," the assistant piped up eagerly. "If Mr. Drew pushes me. Then we could pull him up together."

"If you think I'm letting you clamber all over me with your dirty, clod-hopping feet, Alfie..." Drew began. The assistant wilted, disappearing further into the shadows.

 _We've got a fine one here,_ Danny thought to himself as he replaced his shoe.

Still, he couldn't just leave the man - even though it was obvious that Drew was going to be no help whatsoever.

"Move over. I'm comin' in," he told them finally. Exchanging a wry glance with Anna, who crouched beside him, ready to do whatever she could to help, he stuck both legs through the gap, rolled over onto his stomach and dropped down blindly into the stifling car. The floor met him sooner than he had expected, and his landing was less than graceful. Harrison peered at him closely as he scrambled to his feet.

"Oh," he said. "It's you. I saw you at the party. You were with the scruffy young man and the cop."

"Cop too," Danny answered briefly. The nearer he got to this man, the more he disliked him. Alfie, on the other hand, seemed pleasant enough, if a little spineless.

"You're a policeman?" he breathed, stepping out from behind his boss. "Oh, thank goodness."

 _Yeah,_ Danny thought with a guilty sigh, _cos that's gonna be so helpful in this situation. I'll just pull my radio out of nowhere and call for backup, shall I...?_ For the second time in less than an hour, he had used his job as a not-so-subtle power play - not usually his style - and now he had to accept the consequences. In spite of his sarcasm, he understood Alfie's relief and chose not to shatter his illusion. An authority figure could often be a comfort. Unless you happened to _be_ that figure...

"Danny! Are you okay down there?" Anna's anxious face peered through the gap, tinged with red. Drew gave a start and Alfie gasped out loud.

"Rough landing." Danny offered her a rueful grin. "Look out - I'm sending someone up. Think you can pull from your end?"

"I'm tougher than I look," she said, reaching out in readiness.

Danny turned to Alfie but, before he could say any more, Drew shook his head firmly. "Oh no you don't," he argued. "This man is my employee. I go first."

"Really?" Danny's voice was laced with disgust. 

"It's okay," Alfie told him hurriedly. "I don't mind."

Yep. Spineless. Danny shrugged.

"Your call," he said, and rounded on Harrison. "Ready?"

"Of course," the archaeologist scoffed.

Making a cradle with his hands was definitely out, so Danny swallowed his pride and knelt down on the floor of the car. He clenched his teeth as Harrison stepped up onto his back. _Your Highness,_ he grumbled in the privacy of his own head.

The man was heavier than he looked, and wobbled awkwardly. Alfie reached out to steady him. Danny could only hope that the three of them would be able to lever Drew up through the gap, because the man was making very little effort to save himself.

"Come _on,_ " he grunted. Sweat was pouring from his brow by now, and Harrison's heels had somehow managed to find every single bruise on his body.

Suddenly, with one last agonising push against his spine, the weight disappeared and he was free. Rolling over for a moment, he watched with fascination as a pair of thrashing legs disappeared out of sight above their heads.

One down. Or should that be up?

Anna's face reappeared. She, too, was sweating.

"Good job," Danny told her. "Alfie next."

"I think..." the assistant murmured nervously, taking in the current state of their battered saviour. "I think I could manage to climb up from your back if you were standing. Is that better?"

"Yes." Danny's reply was heartfelt. "Thank you." He took the offered hand and rose to his feet once more, giving Alfie a keen look. Not entirely spineless after all. _I should know by now,_ he told himself. _Never underestimate the shy ones..._

With surprising agility, Alfie hopped onto his back and reached upwards. Minutes later, he was at Drew's side once more.

Which left Danny. Stuck in the elevator car. All by himself, with broken fingers that had barely healed.

 _Okay..._ _Flaw in the plan._

Danny stared up at the gap and his heart sank. How was he going to reach it?

Just at that moment, Alfie popped back into view. His upper body slithered through the elusive space. Behind him, Anna called to Danny. "Hold on tight!"

Alfie's overlong hair swung into his eyes as he dangled downwards, waving his arms.

Danny sighed, realising that this was going to hurt. He lifted both arms, letting Alfie grab them.

Pain was a fleeting price to pay for a rescue...

**-x0x-**

Sid found her sitting at her desk, with her cell phone clutched between her bone-white fingers. Her eyes were far away and the look on her face was ghostly.

"Stella," he said in a soft voice; and then, more loudly, "Stella?"

"Oh!" She came back to herself with a start. The mask slipped into place and, as he had done many times before, Sid found himself admiring her strength of will.

Admiring it, but not deceived by it...

"Are you okay?" he asked her, moving closer.

Eyes full of shadows held his gaze for a moment.

"No," she admitted, at last. He nodded. Taking a chair, he placed it beside her and sat down, waiting. The file that he was carrying lay on his lap, forgotten.

"i just spoke to Don."

His heart stopped, briefly. Stella saw his reaction and hastened to reassure him.

"Oh! Oh, no... That is, we don't know..." She shook her head. "There's been some kind of explosion inside the tower. But that doesn't mean..." He had never known her to be lost for words like this. "I wish..." All of her pent-up frustration poured out suddenly, in a torrent. "I wish that I could be there, instead of here. I feel so useless. But what could I do? I'd only be in the way. Flack already has the FBI to deal with. The last thing he needs is me by his side as well, pushing him to send me into danger." Self-knowledge made her laugh in the middle of her headlong speech. "It's better that I stay here, Sid; I know that..."

"Doesn't make it easy, though," he nodded. "Believe it or not, I do know how you feel. Sometimes, it's hard, being here when the ones you care about are out there, on the front line."

"Really?" She stared at him, taken aback. "You feel that way?"

"Now and then," he admitted, smiling. "Of course, I'm not saying I want to pull a 'Hawkes'. I do love my job."

"Oh, Sid." She clasped his hand in silent friendship and then looked down at the file. "I'm sorry - you wanted to show me something?"

"I did?" For a moment, the change of subject threw him. Then he remembered. "I did!" It was hard to keep the triumph from his face. "I finally found the answer to a question that's been bothering me ever since I first saw Rudy Nash, and those strange marks on his body."

He opened the file - and Stella raised her eyebrows in surprise.

**-x0x-**

"Are you sure?" Mac said to Adam.

In the end, the decision to move had been an easy one. Neither man felt like sitting in a lonely corridor for hours, wondering what had become of Danny and everyone else - not when there was a chance to find them.

"Yes, I'm sure. I can do this. Trust me, boss. But how about you?"

"I'll manage," was the grim reply. "Just hold on tight."

"Like superglue." He offered up an encouraging smile, and then remembered that Mac couldn't see it. So, instead, he patted his shoulder with a tentative hand. "Up we get..."

"Adam, I'm blind. I'm not three years old. Lose the 'we'."

"Sorry, boss..." _Great start,_ he thought to himself, and bit his lip - another thing that Mac couldn't see.

It was going to be a long night.

Adam felt like a mother hen as he watched Mac clamber slowly to his feet. On several occasions, he reached out to help him, only to let his hand fall away at the last minute. Let the man do what he could.

Besides, standing upright was proving to be something of a challenge for him as well, though he chose not to mention that fact to his boss. Why let Mac know that he was struggling too? What good would that do? _Need to know basis,_ Adam decided, even though his head was spinning in a manner that was reminiscent of the morning after his first frat party.

 _Good times,_ his brain said blurrily.

 _Not so good,_ he thought a moment later, as the queasiness set in. Also familiar...

He clenched his teeth and focussed on something else. Like the man who stood before him, swaying slightly, with a pale, clammy face and a nauseated look of his own.

"That gas was bad news." Adam gave a weary sigh and stepped forwards, slipping his hand through the crook of Mac's elbow, just as he had in the shaft.

"Old news," Mac corrected him. His voice was quiet, but full of determination. "It's behind us, Adam. Forget about it. Look ahead. What do you see?"

He peered down the corridor, which was bland and uninspiring. Such an enormous building, and this was all it had to offer? Grey walls, and... "Doors," he told Mac. "Lots of doors. But they're all closed."

"Where does the corridor lead?"

"Hard to say. But I guess there ought to be stairs or an elevator somewhere, right? Can't have a floor with no way out. Which direction, boss?"

"Oh no," Mac told him with a wry laugh. "This is your party, remember? You choose."

"Thanks a lot. No pressure, then," he said, echoing Danny's earlier remark. How long ago that seemed - the party room, and the challenge that began it all. "Um... how about left?" The strip seemed brighter in the opposite direction and, right now, Adam wasn't keen to trust the strip. Look where it had led them so far. Straight into the Shaft of Doom. Lovely.

"Left it is." Mac nodded. His eyes were closed and his face was taut with pain. It wasn't hard to imagine the size of his headache right now.

 _And I was feeling sorry for myself._ Adam frowned.

He settled Mac's arm more firmly in his own and started to guide him down the corridor, sticking to the centre as he kept a vigilant watch for whatever trap was waiting to befall them next.


	21. Chapter 21

_**"You can tell a lot about a fellow's character by his way of eating jellybeans."  
** _ _**(Ronald Reagan)** _

**-x0x-**

Seeking Don, Jess found him just outside the bookstore, staring up at the armour-plated tower with a crease in the middle of his brow and a hostile look in his eyes.

"Bad?" she said.

"Worse," he replied. "Stella's frantic. Rowd's an ass. We're getting nowhere fast - and our guys are still stuck in there."

"That's positive thinking." Slyly, she pulled something out from behind her back and handed it to him.

"A chocolate muffin? I thought you ate that."

"Pays to be prepared," she told him simply. "This is my emergency supply."

No more questions. Don took the muffin gratefully and wolfed it down in three bites. Jess grinned to herself.

"Better?"

"Much," he said, looking surprised.

"So, what's the plan? _Your_ plan, I mean, not Mr. FBI..."

She waited as Don brushed the crumbs from his fingers and stuffed the empty wrapper into his pocket. "Rowd's gone back to his little truck. He's on the hunt for Missy Yamada. I don't think he liked the fact that I trampled all over his interview. Said - and I'm quoting here - 'you think you've got such a good rapport with Bardon? Fine. He's all yours.'"

"Isn't that what you wanted? Bardon can make sense of the blueprints. They're here, by the way. Planning department just dropped them off."

Together, they headed back into the bookstore. A blast of warm air hit them as they stepped back through the door. "Rowd's a snob. He thinks that an architect will prove to be more useful than some 'scruffy workman from a building site'. Again, his words."

"You think he's wrong," Jess said.

"Yes." Don frowned. "For one thing, no one knows where Yamada is. For another - Thorne paid Bardon to keep quiet. That means he has to have something we need. I'm working with the things we've got, not chasing shadows. Where are the blueprints?"

"Geography section." She gave another quiet smile. "It felt appropriate..."

"Good. Fetch Bardon. I'm gonna find a way into that monster's belly if it kills me. And Jess..."

"Mm?"

"Thanks," he told her, and she was pleased to see a gleam of fresh determination in his eyes.

"The power of chocolate," she said, as she left for the comic book section. "Works every time..."

**-x0x-**

"Kinbaku," Stella said. "That's... unusual."

"It was your puzzle-box master who provided the key." Sid's face was eager, as he hastened to explain. "The moment I saw him... Well, he's Japanese, of course. I could tell that straight away; which reminded me of a book I once read. For purely professional reasons," he added quickly, seeing the arch look that crossed her face. She relaxed, and smiled.

"I wasn't assuming that _this_ was one of your hobbies, Sid."

He glanced at her coyly as she skimmed through his report and studied the diagram which showed the very specific welts on Nash's body.

"Kinbaku," he repeated. "A Japanese style of... well, binding."

Stella shook her head. "So, what you're telling me is that Nash allowed himself to be tied up _voluntarily_?"

"Yes. It's an art form... of sorts..." Sid knew that Stella had seen more than her fair share of the darkness that life had to offer. It was his gentlemanly instinct that made him keep his explanation discreet.

"So, his partner - whoever that may be - waited until he was helpless and then simply sliced his brachial artery, removed the bonds and left him to die?"

"DNA tells us that it was a woman. And don't forget, she also moved the body. Which makes her strong. Or very determined."

"Determined and calculating. A dangerous combination." Stella's eyes flashed. "I'd like to meet this woman..."

Collecting his notes, Sid rose to his feet.

"I don't envy her if you do," he said.

**-x0x-**

To all intents and purposes, Lindsay was helping Sheldon. Even so, she couldn't help stealing regular compulsive glances at Mori, who was working nearby. His focus was remarkable, as though he had entered a private world with invisible walls that blocked out everything around him. Able fingers drove his pen across the page at lightning speed, whilst his lips moved silently, testing the words as he wrote.

In any other situation, Lindsay knew that she would have been the same. She had always been proud of her concentration; the ability to lay her worries aside and do her work. But tonight was different. This wasn't just her job. This was Mac, who had welcomed her into his 'family' and taught her so much. Adam, whose expressive face brought happiness to every single day.

And Danny. Her Danny. The man that she cared for... _No; tell the truth,_ she thought. The man that she loved.

To begin with, she had tried to stay calm and professional. Do her job and trust that the danger was only in her imagination. That the armoured tower was merely a stunt. But when Stella had told them about the explosion, a strange and crippling numbness had begun to set in. Now her mind was almost frozen, locked on an image that had haunted her for weeks. Danny, dropping into her arms from the back of a broken truck, with his shirt in tatters - and blood; so much blood... _"Lindsay..."_

"Lindsay."

"Oh! I'm sorry..." She forced a smile onto her face and turned to Hawkes, who had spoken. "Guess I was somewhere else."

"Of course you were," he said shrewdly. "Look, take a break if you like. I've got this covered, and I can babysit our friend over there - no problem."

His kindness almost made her want to cry, but she was stronger than that. She knew that he was worried too; could see it in his eyes, and the way he hunched his shoulders.

"No," she told him, with a smile that was genuine this time. "That's kind of you, Hawkes, but it helps to keep busy."

Sheldon nodded, just as Mori came up behind them, clutching his translation notes and Nash's secret book. Calm as he was, he looked wary of interrupting.

"I'm halfway through," he said. "But guys, there's something you need to know before I go any further."

Lindsay tried to read his face and failed. "What is it?" Sheldon asked.

"This isn't a journal, or a book of poetry. It's about a computer, okay? The one that's running security in Thorne Tower right now. Nash designed it, and his notes are all here. We're talking theories, design sketches... codes."

"Access codes?" Lindsay breathed.

"Pages full of them," Mori nodded. "Now, I'm no computer expert - I'm guessing you've got one or two of those here - but I'd say that's a pretty useful find."

Sheldon darted from the room. Lindsay knew that he had gone in search of Stella.

"Yes," she told Mori. Hope made her heart beat faster. "It is."

**-x0x-**

At first, the two men walked along in peace, lost in their own thoughts. The air was close, and Mac felt sluggish, but he forced himself to try and stay alert, concentrating on the sound of his footsteps and the subtle noises all around him that defined his new environment. Soon enough, however, Adam's nerves kicked in and he started talking. Mac didn't mind. The monologue was oddly comforting; one of several strong links to the world beyond the blackness. Adam's arm through his. The floor beneath his feet. And a voice that was doing its best to keep steady.

"What do you suppose is behind all these doors?" Mac could hear the subtle shift in Adam's tone as he turned his head from side to side. "Do you reckon they're locked - or should we take a look? I mean... me, of course. Should _I_ look? Or should we just keep going...? Okay, I know - keep going, because we don't want to end up in trouble again. Only... do you suppose that one of them might be a men's room...?"

Mac had to laugh at that.

"You're hoping that Thorne hasn't booby-trapped those as well," he commented.

Adam fell silent.

"Oh," he said at last. "Well, that would be cruel."

"As opposed to his other more charming ideas? Are you desperate?"

"I can wait," his companion muttered.

After that, Adam seemed to find it hard to pick up the thread of his conversation once more. Sensing the chill in his mood, Mac reached out with a question of his own; the first random thought that popped into his head.

"What made you enter this competition, Adam?"

The pause that followed made him fear that he had strayed onto a forbidden path.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he continued. "I was just..."

"It was a distraction," Adam said, all of a sudden.

And now Mac knew that he was heading somewhere Adam really didn't want him to go.

"I understand," he told the younger man gently.

"Do you...? Oh!"

At first, it seemed as though Adam had taken offence at his comment. But a sharp tug on his arm made him realise that they were halting. He swayed, and planted his feet more firmly. Balance was an issue, and it took more concentration than his aching head could muster. Without Adam's guidance, he would have fallen long ago.

"What is it?" he said.

"You won't believe it," Adam replied, and his tone was several shades lighter. "It's a kitchen."

**-x0x-**

It really was, Adam thought to himself, wide-eyed as he took in the scene before him. A little kitchen, not unlike the break room back at the lab. Complete with cupboards, refrigerator, sink and kettle; not to mention several tables surrounded by smart plastic chairs and topped off with bowls of... were those actually jellybeans?

The door stood wide open, inviting them in.

Adam was far beyond tired, and he could feel Mac shaking in his careful grip. They needed a rest, and they needed it now. If the room blew up around them... Well, at least they wouldn't have to worry about their exhaustion anymore.

 _That's not humour,_ he scolded himself. That was delirium talking - which proved his point.

"Come on," he told his boss. "I'll get you a drink."

To his surprise, Mac didn't object. Adam steered him into the room. So far, so good. No weird smells. No trapdoors dropping them through the floor just as they thought they had reached a haven. Only the same red light as always, pulsing slowly along the walls.

 _I'm starting to hate the colour red,_ he thought, as he eased Mac into a chair.

"There's a table in front of you," he said. "And a bowl of sweets. I'm just going to check out the cupboards, okay, and the fridge. To your left. I won't be far, so don't worry."

Mac nodded slowly, propping his elbows on the table and letting his head drift into his hands.

With a shiver of concern, Adam watched him.

 _Water,_ he thought, at last. He still had half a bottle in Arabella's bag, which he had been saving, even though they sorely needed it. Now he could top that up and they could still drink their fill. Since the gas, he felt dry inside, and cracked like clay after too much sun.

Hurrying over to the sink, he turned the tap, half-expecting nothing to happen. But for once, luck was with them. A stream of clear water rolled into the metal basin; one of the most beautiful sights that he had ever seen. Adam cupped his hands, filled them as far as he was able and then, before it all drained away, raised the drink to his lips.

It was amazing.

The water trickled down his aching throat like honey, soothing the pain. Tiny droplets ran down his chin and onto his shirt, but he didn't care. He rubbed another palmful over his face, and smiled.

Quickly, he filled the bottle and stashed it back in the bag. A nearby cupboard yielded two plain white mugs, which he also filled. He set them on the counter as he began to explore the kitchen further. But there, he was disappointed. The fridge was empty, as were the rest of the cupboards. This was a lonely room, waiting to be loved.

 _Be grateful for small gifts,_ Adam thought stoutly.

Rescuing the mugs from the side, he headed back to the table. On the way, a laminated notice fixed to a nearby wall caught his eye, and he took a little detour, calling out to let Mac know where he was heading.

The dim light made it hard to understand what he was looking at. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in, almost brushing the notice with the tip of his nose.

"It's a floor plan..." he breathed.

Eagerly, he balanced the mugs together in one hand and ripped the notice from the wall.

"I can't believe it," he continued, scurrying over to Mac and depositing all of his goodies on the table. "Look at that... I mean, Mac! It's a plan. Of this whole floor, including the exits."

"Well done, Adam." Mac sounded hoarse, and he gave a slight cough. Adam guided his fingers until they were wrapped around one of the mug handles.

"Small sips," he advised. "Take your time, okay, boss? Drinking too quickly is bad for you."

Mac smiled.

"I'm stating the obvious, aren't I?" Adam's voice was rueful. He reached out and scooped a jellybean from the nearby bowl, tossing it into the air and catching it with his open mouth. An unconscious act, born of habit. "Mm - blueberry," he said with satisfaction.

"What is?"

Startled by his boss's change in tone, Adam stopped chewing.

"Jellybean..." he murmured slowly.

"Spit it out," Mac ordered. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to take sweets from strangers?"

Adam spat, and the dark blue bean went rolling across the floor into the shadows. "No," he said in a tiny voice. "I'm sorry, okay? But surely...?"

"We can't be sure of anything in here." Mac shook his head. "You have to remember that, Adam. Even an innocent jellybean."

"I know. I know; it was dumb. I can't think why I did it..." He hunched his shoulders and shivered again.

"You're tired, that's all. So am I," Mac admitted. He leaned across to where he knew Adam was sitting and reached out a hand, seeking contact. Adam gripped it tightly with his own.

An echo of his own fear lurked in the tightness around Mac's eyes, and the set of his jaw.

Seeing that, Adam scrubbed the weariness from his face and tried to focus on the floor plan instead. "We're almost there," he said with relief. "We chose the right direction, boss. That's a good thing. Two more rooms beyond this one, and then there's a stairway - a proper one, not just a... well, you know..." _No more shafts,_ he added silently.

Yet again, he rubbed his face, and giggled.

"What's funny?" Mac's voice was sharp.

Adam considered. "Nothing at all," he said with mock-solemnity. "It's a not-funny situation... Sorry, boss. I'll be serious now, I promise..."

He rose to his feet and the world dipped around him. Quickly, he sat down again.

The treacherous taste of blueberries filled his mouth.

_Uh-oh..._

What had he done?


End file.
